


In My Arms Lies Eternity

by TheHolyOnes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Filling In the Gaps, Help, SO MUCH FLUFF, SolAss, Some light smut, canon relationship arch, it's getting hot in here so take off all your tunics, it's terrible, like idk how to categorize it, post game speculation, wild speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3268028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHolyOnes/pseuds/TheHolyOnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything he had worked for could be lost with her. He wondered how she could feel so familiar in a world alien to him. Where he felt weak, broken, and – dare he admit it – old, she grew ever more powerful, both in body, mind, magic, and status because of the anchor. With her he felt younger, stronger, and relevant in this world of Chantries and the Maker, where magic was vilified and knowledge lost.</p><p>To have his heart’s desire or repent for his greatest mistake – how had he let himself be faced with this choice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrath of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> A (mostly) canon retelling of the romance between Solas and Inquisitor Lavellan from both characters' perspectives. More in-depth exploration into their relationship and how their feelings came to be. In-game dialogue used but expanded upon. Main plot points will sometimes be skimmed over - if you've played the game you'll understand what's going on. Spoilers throughout, so I suggest you finish the game before reading. Some cursing and eventual fluff and smut, all consensual. Updated on Sundays!

# The Wrath of Heaven

The Dalish elf had walked out of the Fade with the orb's mark on her hand and Solas did not know what to think of her. She was young and an unknown, a spy and a mage, all dangerous things; but most incriminating was that she had survived an explosion that had killed the humans’ Most Holy, Divine Justinia and everyone who had attended the Conclave. Once the elf had been recovered and locked away, Cassandra had insisted that he was conspiring with the elf he had never met before because they happened to be of the same race. But the Seeker had been angry and deeply hurt and had not known the fault of her words.

The spymaster Leliana had been much calmer though still distraught and distrustful of him. She recognized his usefulness and had convinced Cassandra to let Solas stay despite being an apostate in order to monitor the prisoner’s mark and state of health. With some digging, she had also proven that Solas had been nowhere near the Conclave and therefore not involved with the explosion.

The Dalish elf slept deeply, but her sleep was troubled due to the mark on her hand that was ever growing. She had thrashed, mumbled, and sweated as the mark grew larger in tandem with the Breach's expansion. He sat beside her as she slept and worked his magic to stabilize her mark, but not even his magic could not stop the mark from killing her if the Breach was not closed. During brief respites, Solas would steal moments to look at the Breach in the sky and consider his escape so that he could resume his original design.

But the elf kept drawing him back to the Chantry prison. He was far too curious about this turn of events to leave just yet.

Demons were entering the physical world in waves through the Breach and there was no way to stop them. Cassandra and Leliana's combined forces could not defeat an enemy that never ended. Solas argued with the Seeker to let him try to close it, to at least study the small rifts that had opened around the Breach. Another prisoner, a surface dwarf with a mysteriously beardless face that had been detained to speak with Divine Justinia regarding recent events in Kirkwall, wanted to see the rifts as well and offered his services as Solas made his case to the Seeker. Cassandra had reluctantly let both of them go with a small retinue of scouts to study the rifts, but only after Solas had convinced her that he was the only mage in the vicinity that was an expert on the Veil. The situation was so dire that she had to let him go. 

The Dalish elf had been stable for hours; he thought he could leave her for a few hours without her condition worsening while he studied the rifts. He assumed that his superior knowledge of the Fade could somehow shed light on how to close the rifts.

But he had been terribly wrong.

The drawf and Solas climbed the mountain with the scouts, the trek made difficult by the wind and snow and had encountered a rift. As they approached it, demons surged out of the rift, forcefully extracted from the Fade and into the physical world. Despite his expertise, his magic could do nothing to the rifts and could not affect them in any way. Demons attacked the group that had accompanied them in seemingly endless waves. As he fought the demons, he mentally chided himself for not trying to escape when he had the chance. He should have gone away to study the Breach from afar so that he could fix the hole in the world. It occurred to him that he may die here in the company of a beardless dwarf and humans who hated him for being both an elf and a mage. The situation would be laughable were it not so dire. 

Then she had arrived.

The Dalish prisoner, disheveled, starving, and in pain from the mark, had joined their battle against the demons. With both her and the Seeker's help the demons were defeated and their bodies returned to the Fade. As the rift weakened, the mark on the elf’s hand grew brighter and Solas grasped her wrist and held the mark to the rift.

The mark's reaction was immediate and satisfying. The rift closed with nary a trace that it had existed save some demon ichor splashed across the snow. The Dalish elf’s mark had closed the rift and she now stared at her hand in awe. She lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes were brilliantly light blue, clear as glass and framed by long, dark eyelashes. He had paid little attention to her face while she had slept but awake and in the daylight her face was animated and open, her Vallaslin shimmering silver. Most remarkable was that for the first time in a very long time, one of his own people did not look at him with disdain or fear, but rather with curiosity. 

“What did you do?” She asked him. 

“I did nothing. The credit is yours,” he replied quickly.

Her eyes searched his face and he saw the assumptions being made. Since he bore no marks she would assume he had been raised in a Circle, an elf lost to the true ways of the Dalish. Under her scrutiny, he reminded himself that she was an ignorant Dalish elf and that he could not expect for her to be any different from the others, even if she was not looking upon him with contempt. Her gaze returned to her hand. She murmured, “So I can help.”

Solas relayed a theory that the same magic was used to make the Breach and the mark on her hand; therefore, the mark could close the rifts that had opened in the Breach’s wake. He also added that his magic and knowledge were far beyond those of a Circle mage to add credibility to his statement and to make his origins clear. 

“Then the mark could be used to close the Breach itself,” Cassandra wondered.

“Possibly,” Solas agreed. He held his hands before him and gauged her reaction to his next statement. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

He had met several Dalish elves in the past year and he had come to know their proud and misled nature, how stubbornly they held onto their false beliefs. He expected for the elf to show pride that she could be so important or possibly anger that she would have to work with humans. But she looked lost and distraught, turning her hand over and over again, not knowing what to do.

“Good to know,” the dwarf chimed in. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

At the sound of the dwarf’s voice the Seeker’s face twisted into disgust and the Dalish elf was distracted from her hand. The dwarf introduced himself and the Dalish hesitantly asked if he was with the Chantry. Both Solas and Varric laughed at the question, but Varric explained that he was a prisoner as well, though Cassandra interjected that that was no longer the case.

“I like your crossbow,” the Dalish remarked with a slow smile to Varric when Cassandra had finished. "I've never seen one so finely crafted."

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together,” Varric replied.

“Bianca? You named your crossbow Bianca?” A smirk grew across the elf's face. 

“Of course I named her Bianca. And she’ll be great company in the valley.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra cut in. The woman sighed, as though she would rather be doing anything other than speaking to Varric, and continued, “Your help is appreciated but –“

Varric returned that they would need his help considering the state of the valley and Cassandra conceded with a disgusted noise. The Dalish elf pursed her lips to hide her amusement at the exchange.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” Solas said to break up the tension between the human and dwarf.

The elf collected her expression and replied, “And I am Arasinya Lavellan.”

“I am pleased to see you still live.” He meant the sentiment though he was still assessing his opinion of Lavellan.

Varric scoffed. “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

“Do you know what it is?” Lavellan asked, her head tilted in curiosity.

“No, not yet,” Solas replied. “I have theories, but none of them tested.”

“In any case, it sounds like I owe you my life. Thank you,” Lavellan falteringly smiled.

“We don’t know what may happen when we get closer to the Breach, do not thank me yet,” Solas replied, somewhat pleased that Lavellan did not seem to be as prideful as other Dalish elves he had met in the past. As an afterthought, he told Cassandra that the magic used at the Conclave was unlike any magic he had ever encountered. Though Lavellan was a mage, he did not believe any mage was capable of such power.

After their introductions had been made the group of four continued to the forward camp. As they traveled up the mountain, Solas remarked that it was odd to see an elf so far away from her clan. He added that he had encountered several Dalish clans in the past, but not hers, and implied that he had never been met with a warm reception. This statement was met with an apologetic grimace and she glanced back at him.

“Many of our people do not trust outsiders even if they are elven,” Lavellan explained. He was amused by her use of "our people" as he did not consider the Dalish elves his people whatsoever but he did not correct her. “I imagine they called you ‘flat-ear’ and ran you out of camp?”

“Oh, they did.”

“Why can’t you Elves just play nice?” Varric asked warily.

They encountered only one more rift as they approached the forward camp. After they had defeated the demons that had come out of it, Lavellan closed the rift with the mark on her hand without his assistance. He was surprised that she had acclimated to the mark so quickly considering it was highly advanced magic, but perhaps because she was a mage she was able to exert some control over it. With the rift closed, the small group reached the forward camp where the Spymaster Leliana had been waiting for them. Almost immediately a Chantry official, Chancellor Roderick, demanded that Lavellan be arrested. Cassandra refused to do any such thing and, ignoring the Chancellor's objections, conferred with Leliana about the best way to approach the Breach. They turned to Lavellan when they could not agree. She chose the mountain path as opposed to charging in with the soldiers. She had been taken aback when they had turned to her for a decision for them, but she had chosen regardless. Cautiously, Lavellan had asked Cassandra if she could have something to eat and the Seeker had gasped and apologized for not thinking of giving her food earlier.

As they climbed the mountain Lavellan munched on a hard piece of bread that she held in her mouth when she needed both hands to ascend. The mountain path took them through an old mine and they encountered even more demons in the cave. As weak as Lavellan must be from her recovery, Solas thought she believed her an accomplished mage despite only knowing Dalish magic as she helped defeat demon after demon. 

The Breach loomed above them after they had emerged from the mountain path and its size seemed impossible as they approached the remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. No words were spoken as they passed by the burned bodies and crumbled rocks, but neither did they look away from them. Lavellan studied the bodies as well and he wondered if she had known any of the people who had died in the blast.

“So,” Lavellan said as they entered what had been the epicenter of the explosion and threw their heads back to look at the Breach. “Are you going to throw me up there and hope for the best or do we have a ladder?”

As Varric chuckled, Solas explained that they would need her to close the rift at the base of the Breach first. They approached the rift and as they descended the stairs they heard the disembodied echoes of Divine Justinia’s death leaking out through the rift in the Fade. The conversation between the Divine and the stranger who had killed her implicated that Lavellan had not been involved with the Divine's death and that she had walked in on something she was not supposed to see. As Cassandra wondered if it meant Lavellan was innocent and Varric worried over the red lyrium at the temple, Solas studied the rift.

“It’s been closed, temporarily,” he told Lavellan, who listened to him attentively. “You’ll need to open it, though it may draw spirits from the Fade to us.”

“That means demons,” Cassandra announced to the soldiers gathered around them.

Without hesitation, Lavellan stepped forward and opened the rift with her mark. The stream of green light appeared once more between anchor and rift and it burst open, filling the space with light. A pride demon spilled forth from the opened rift and they attacked it with all their strength with the support of the Nightingale's and Commander's remaining men. The battle was long and Solas, between casting spells, checked to see if Lavellan was still standing. She must be weak from her imprisonment, days of unconsciousness, and the sudden activity afterward, but the elf was extremely resilient and was proficient at dodging out of the way of the pride demon’s lightning whip.

The demon perished and Lavellan turned to the rift and attempted to close it. Solas stood by as Lavellan’s mark worked to close the rift. She was pouring power into the rift but it was taking much longer than the other, smaller rifts had taken and for a moment Solas feared it would not be enough, that her determination to close the rift was too little.

Then the rift closed and the air filled with light.  

When the light faded, demons no longer poured out of the Breach. It swirled like a vortex high above them; green and calm. With no demons in sight and the Breach stabilized, Solas felt the Veil strengthening once more. Lavellan had fallen to her knees and she stared up at the Breach in wonder. No one moved, unsure of what had happened or what would happen.

“So …” Varric whispered. “What happened?”

“The Breach is stabilized, for the moment at least,” Solas replied. His words were met with great relief and then all eyes were on Lavellan, who now lay on her back with her eyes half-closed.

“You can eat and rest when we’ve returned to Haven,” Cassandra said as gently as possible as she helped Lavellan get to her feet. “You have earned some repose.”

The Seeker helped Lavellan to her feet and the elf, barely conscious from exhaustion, did not notice the looks of awe as she passed. She stumbled and blinked too often but with Cassandra’s strong hands on her arms, she guided Lavellan back to Haven and let her collapse on the bed of an empty cabin in the village.

“So she’s not a prisoner anymore? She gets a cabin? Where’s my cabin?” Varric asked as the Seeker quietly closed the door behind her.

Cassandra made yet another disgusted noise at Varric but did respond to his question. “After what we heard in the Valley, I believe her innocent and she has earned some care after her treatment in the dungeon. You, however, may find your own resting place.”

“What happens now, Seeker?” Solas asked. “She has stabilized the Breach but it still remains. It will require a great deal of power for us to close it permanently.”

“What happens now will most likely be something drastic and, in all likelihood, dangerous,” Cassandra disclosed. “But we must do what’s necessary to close the Breach and stop the war between the mages and Templars.”

“And what of us?” Solas asked of Cassandra, gesturing to both himself and Varric.

Her shrewd eyes narrowed at Varric, who winked in return. “You both have proven yourselves valuable, you may stay,” Cassandra assured them, though she was reluctant to admit it. “Otherwise, leave.”

“We’re allowed to leave?” Varric beamed. “Really, Seeker? I thought we were prisoners.”

“I have told you that you are not a prisoner,” Cassandra hissed. To Solas she avowed, “You were never a prisoner, Solas, so of course you may go if you wish. I was wrong to suspect you before. We would appreciate your expertise on the Fade.”

“Thank you, Seeker,” Solas replied. He inclined his head in a small gesture of thanks. Perhaps these humans were not so hopeless as he originally feared. “I shall stay to see if Lavellan’s mark is stable and to see the Breach closed, then we shall see.”


	2. The Threat Remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early update while I revise In Hushed Whispers.

# The Threat Remains

For the second time in a short period of time Arasinya awoke to a strange room, unaware of where she was and surrounded by humans. At least this time she was unchained and alone. It was unusual for her to be sleeping by herself  in a bed, but she was grateful that she had not woken up to another interrogation from the Seeker Cassandra. An elven servant had come into her room shortly after she woke up and though Arasinya had tried to be friendly, the elf had been scared by her. After the elf ran off after requesting that Arasinya go to the Chantry to meet with Cassandra, Arasinya dressed herself in the clothes that had been laid out for her on a chair. There was no mirror in her room but she knew she looked ridiculous. The tunic and shirt were too large for her and she was required to roll up the sleeves on the shirt several times and use the smallest hole of the belt provided to prevent her from looking like a blue sack of potatoes. Fortunately the boots and wool leggings fit her and second-hand cloak that clasped over one shoulder was warm and a beautiful shade of charcoal gray.

Her hair had not been washed in days; it was matted and tangled and slick with oil. Fortunately, a bowl of water and soap had been left on the washstand as well as a comb. Using her magic she warmed the water and slowly worked her way through her tangles. Her clean hair trailed to her bottom in lazy waves when she had removed all the clumps of mess from her hair. With some help from her magic she braided her hair and let it lay over one shoulder. 

Her stomach growled loudly as soon as she had stopped working. She had barely eaten in the last several days. If she were not used to fasting due to time with her clan, which often went without food depending on the season, she would be insufferable from hunger. 

Arasinya decided she needed to venture out of her little cabin in search of food, since there was none inside. She opened the wooden door of the cabin and stepped out into blinding winter light. Once her eyes adjusted she found that hundreds of eyes were upon her and she stepped back in surprise. Humans surrounded the cabin and their voices grew quiet as she took a tentative step outside. She passed through the crowd, their eyes still upon her in what she could only assume was fear. Her ears rang and their eyes followed her; she began to panic and her pace increased as she approached the Chantry. 

She rushed past them and into a large building which she assumed was the Chantry. Though she would never normally seek refuge in a Chantry, she was grateful that it was blissfully less crowded than outside. Eyes still found her as she searched for Cassandra, but she was able to block them out by looking straight ahead, her head held high among these strangers. When she found the Seeker she was relieved to see a familiar face, even if the woman had been her jailor only days ago.

What followed after she met with Cassandra was a flurry of events that Arasinya found herself swept up into with no choice but to not resist. She learned that she had now been dubbed the Herald of Andraste, a figure who she did not consider holy and the basis of a religion that had demonized and committed genocide against her people, and that something called the Inquisition would be reformed in order to discover who had destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes and end the war between Templars and mages. She was apparently at the center of it due to being seemingly chosen by Andraste; apparently, the people had seen a woman behind Arasinya when she had come out of the Fade and they believed this woman to be Andraste. Arasinya could not remember anything from the Fade and did not remember a woman at all. Without much choice, Arasinya agreed to cooperate with the Inquisition since their goal was to close the Breach and they would protect her from those who believed she had murdered the Divine. She did her best not to be overwhelmed or disgusted by the religion that now sought to consume her.

After being briefed on the situation regarding the Breach and the Inquisition’s involvement in closing it, the very attractive ex-Templar named Cullen had directed her to what served as the mess hall and Arasinya had found herself salivating at the sight of fresh food. She helped herself to a large plate piled with many Shemlen foods that she had never tried before and she cleaned the plate meant for a man twice her size only to go back for seconds. When she had finished eating she wandered about the camp. She spoke to several different people and caught up with Varric, whose conversation was refreshing for he was treating her normally where everyone else just stared or babbled. She had just left the apothecary’s when she saw Solas, one of the few other elves in the camp that was not a servant. He was leaning against the wall of a cabin, his eyes on the Breach. When she approached his eyes caught hers. 

He was older than her, his eyes betrayed that much as did the lines around his mouth and between his eyebrows, but there was something bright in his eyes and the lilt of his mouth that gave him a light air. He had seen much, but he still had a vibrancy and humor that had yet to be trampled by cruelness. She was curious how a elf mage could exist outside both the Dalish and the Circle, and perhaps it was that curiosity that encouraged her to greet him amicably. 

“Andaran atish’an, Solas,” she greeted him formally. She inwardly grimaced, not knowing if the elf knew her language and she regretted using the elven phrase. This place was so strange to her and she supposed that having seen another of her kind had briefly caused her to forget where she was. 

“Ma serannas,” Solas replied with a perfect accent. Arasinya had not expected to hear her language spoken so masterfully by someone outside of the Dalish, but she was happy to hear the familiar words and her regret diminished. “How are you feeling?”

“I have finally eaten, so much better, thank you.”

“And the mark?” Solas asked, his gray-blue eyes peering at her hand. “It was stable the last time I looked at it.”

She examined the hand herself, turning it over once before replying empirically, “It no longer hurts and I don’t believe it is expanding anymore.”

Solas removed himself from the cabin wall and held out his hand to her, asked, “May I?”

She placed her left hand into Sola’s long-fingered hands and watched as he turned it over. His index finger followed the mark’s lines across her palm and she wondered if it was his magic that raised the hairs on her arms and neck or the simple familiarity of being touched by another elf. It had been so long since she had left her clan to spy at the Conclave and she had forgotten the comfort of being among her own kind. 

He released her and she immediately used her reclaimed hand to worry the end of her braid, a bad habit from her childhood that she had never broken. Solas explained that the mark must have stopped expanding when the Breach was stabilized but she must keep a cautious eye on it, which she agreed to do.

“Do you know what they have been calling you since you stabilized the Breach?” Solas asked, stepping away from her to resume his place on the cabin wall.

“I’ve heard several different things since I've woken, actually,” Arasinya replied as she lowered her hand from her braid.

“The Chosen of Andraste, blessed to save us all," Solas supplied, a wry smile full of disbelief upon his lips. 

“Sounds terribly dashing. I feel like I should be riding in on a steed, perhaps a giant Halla to remind everyone of the blasphemy,” Arasinya meekly joked.

“I would have suggested a griffin were they not extinct,” Solas smirked. “Joke as you will, posturing to the humans is necessary.”

“Yes, having a Dalish apostate as their Herald cannot be terribly inspiring,” Arasinya agreed with a sardonic smirk. Solas wandered to the stone fence next to the cabin to better see the Breach and when he turned she took the opportunity to study his figure before moving forward to join him. He was taller than her and his build was lean but slight; she could not help but admire his broad shoulders and fine posterior. She leaned against the stones and faced away from him.

She turned her head to see him better as he spoke. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past and ancient wars both famous and forgotten.” He turned to look at her and caught her eyes. “Every war has its heroes; I’m curious what kind you’ll be.”

“Do you really study ancient ruins by going into the Fade?” Arasinya asked, wanting to avoid replying to his pondering - she was wondering as much herself and had no answer for him. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

He explained how places with a history are inhabited by spirits and that the press against the Veil and weakening the barrier between worlds. When he dreamed in those places, he could go deep into the Fade to see the memories of a site that no other living being would have seen before. While Arasinya could follow the theories that Solas spoke of, she had never experienced anything like what he described. Spirits typically avoided her and she had encountered very few demons in her exploration of the Fade, so she did not possess the experience to fully understand what he was explained. This annoyed her more than it should have. 

“That’s fascinating,” Arasinya commended, masking her bitterness over her ignorance. “And I’m sure very valuable as well.”

“Thank you,” Solas replied, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It is not a common field of study for obvious reasons; it’s not as flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants from a thousand-year-old dream, I would not trade it for anything.” His eyes, which reminded Arasinya of the sky before rain and lightning poured out of it, turned toward the Breach once more. “I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been closed.”

“Were you not planning on staying?” Arasinya asked. Solas had been so helpful in closing the rifts and since he was an expert on the Fade, his prowess would be necessary were they to successfully close the Breach. She could not imagine someone of his expertise leaving at such a crucial time.

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and, unlike you, I do not have a divine mark to protect me,” Solas retorted, his response clipped by slight indignation. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

“I’ve been running from Templars all my life, of course I do,” Arasinya agreed immediately. “But you came here to help when others would have run to protect themselves. I can make sure they don’t use that against you.”

“And how would you stop them?” 

“Oh, the _Herald of Andraste_ might be able to think of something,” Arasinya smirked. On a more serious note she added, “The only difference between us is that I happen to have a mark on my hand that also happens to be invaluable to the Inquisition's cause. It would not be right if I was to go free and you could not. So, to answer your question: I would stop them however I had to.”

“Thank you," he replied, his tone light but surprised. He studied her for a moment, his expression neutral before furrowing his eyebrows ever so slightly and continuing, "I was not aware that the Dalish could be concerned with elves that lived outside their ways. You are the first I have met to show any consideration toward an elf outside of the Dalish ways." He left the fence and stood away from her and Arasinya stood as well to look up into his face, a careful mask of sternness.

She hesitated before replying to his censure. She had encountered this resistance before having spoken to non-Dalish Elves in the past, but she had not expected such bitterness from the man. Many Elves that lived outside the Dalish believed that the Dalish were cruel and harbored secrets due to their upbringing with Shemlen. Unfortunately this was often the case, but she knew many clans, her own included, that took in Elves raised in Shemlen towns and cities and taught them the Dalish ways. 

With a slight lift of her chin to better see him, Arasinya calmly acknowledged his criticism, “I understand that you have had less than pleasant encounters with my people in the past, Solas, and for that, I apologize. But if you intend to shame me for being Dalish then I must tell you that you cannot. We have our flaws, but after the fall of the Dales we did not submit to the Shemlen or their Maker.”

“No, the Dalish did not, but what they know of their own heritage is flawed. They are as children acting out stories, misheard and repeated a thousand times, mangling details in each retelling," Solas continued in the same vein. "If the Dalish were not so stubborn in their beliefs, they could learn the truth."

“Are we?" She asked, almost to herself. "I suppose we are stubborn. We have so little left. But you make it sound as though you know the truth of these matters. How?” Arasinya wondered. Her eyes widened as her thoughts connected. "You said you were able to see memories in the Fade - are you able to see the true history of Elves in your studies? Were your previous encounters with the Dalish due to wanting to share this information?”

Solas was taken aback slightly by her insight. “Yes, actually. I approached them offering the truth regarding their heritage.”

“Then they must have thought you a heretic or some elf the Shemlen had trained to spread doubt,” Arasinya surmised. She scoffed and laughed when Solas nodded. “Then of course they drove you off. We do not like to be reminded that our lore could be wrong; we're supposed to be the caretakers of such knowledge. We've lost so much of our past and so we grasp at legends and stories and refuse to keep an objective eye when it comes to what little history we have.”

“I never thought to hear a Dalish admit that she did not know everything,” Solas admitted. “And I thought a hole in the sky was surprising.” He held her eyes and the intensity of his gaze brought a flush to her cheeks, which puzzled her exceedingly. When was the last time she had blushed? He asked, “How did you come by this uncommon line of thought?”

Arasinya shrugged and looked away from him to avoid any further blushing. She hoped that he would assume it was the cold and the wind that had turned her cheeks a rosy hue. “I was a First apprentice in my clan. I studied a great deal and on the rare occasions that I met with other Dalish elves from other clans, I heard varying different accounts of our history. Little subtleties that no doubt others passed over, but why would are they different unless the stories have changed over time? What were the original accounts? What if they were altered to fulfill the needs of the story-teller? These are the questions that humans ask when they are learning their history.” Keeping her eyes downcast, she leaned on the stone fence once more and looked at her hands. “I asked my Keeper once if it was possible that our stories of the past were wrong but she told me never to ask again, lest I be cast out of the clan for being sacrilegious.”

“And therein lay the matter with the Dalish. They do not question their beliefs and those that do are threatened with exile,” Solas said, his face drawn with a sadness Arasinya did not understand. He shook his head slightly and his expression cleared. “Have you had many encounters with elves outside the Dalish?”

“Alienage elves? No, I never visited a city large enough to have one, though I have met a stray servant here or there in villages with nobility.”

“What was your impression of them?”

“I suppose I found them like Shemlen. They worked and lived as they did, albeit in generally more decrepit conditions than their Shemlen counterparts. Some hated me for being Dalish and some hounded me with questions and asked if I would take them back with me.” She smiled at a memory and recalled, “A young Elven boy once greeted me in our language when I was in his village bartering for goods. He had seen my Vallaslin and his pronunciation was terrible but it was a beautiful gesture.”

“You bartered with humans?” Solas asked, surprised.

“Not a normal occupation for a First Apprentice, I'll admit, but I have some skill with a harp and I keep the songs and poems for my clan. On the outskirts of villages I would play music for farmhands and sometimes nobles and in return they offered to trade with my clan. Or they would teach me their songs if they had nothing else. It is why I was chosen to go to the Conclave. I knew the most of Shemlen and their ways so I would blend in more easily than my clansmen and understand more.”

“Then you are not a typical Dalish at all, are you?” Solas asked.

“Nothing is typical these days,” Arasinya replied and Solas smiled at her answer, pleased. She glanced at the Breach and then looked back at him. “And what of you? Where do you hail from?”

“Why do you want to know about me?” Solas asked, joining her on the fence. A safe distance lay between them but Arasinya could not help but feel it. She wondered when she had begun to find the man attractive – she had only just met him and she had had enough heartache over the course of her life to know better than to pursue a man considering the current circumstances. 

“I suppose you do not owe me any information about yourself,” Arasinya mused. “I respect you, however, and I happen to owe you my life for stabilizing the mark. I suppose I am merely curious since you said you were not a Circle mage and yet you are not Dalish.”

He took a moment to consider her and, being bold, she stared right back at him. As she had surmised earlier he was older than her, but possibly by no more than a decade, and his features were sharp and unforgiving. But the curve of his smile and the brightness of his eyes betrayed a softer, livelier side that Arasinya believed was his natural countenance.

While she studied him, he gave a very vague description of where he was from, a village to the north, and that he had left because it offered him little of interest as a young mage. He had traveled as an apostate, searching the Fade, learning and becoming a more interesting person in order to explore memories and dreams. The Fade was shaped by his experiences and therefore he needed as many he could gather in order to learn more in the Fade. It was another theory that she knew nothing of and she questioned him constantly about his magic practices. Fortunately he seemed eager to oblige and share his knowledge of the Fade. He spoke of spirits and how they were like people and that he counted many of them among his friends. She found his voice calming and enjoyed listening to the compassion that lurked below the surface of his good manners. Arasinya wondered if he often had the opportunity to share his experiences in the Fade, for whenever she did ask one of her many questions he answered in length and asked for her own opinion to agree or debate.

He paused to ask her opinion regarding spirits being real despite not having physical forms and while she did find his argument intriguing, she was unsure of how to answer. She had always been taught that spirits were not people, only emotions and purpose in their purest forms. She could not imagine a spirit having memories or feelings beyond what it was, but she did not wish to disagree with him completely for he seemed to be enjoying talking to her. 

“You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Solas,” she commended with a tilt of her head.

“I try,” Solas replied. He lowered an eyebrow at her. “And that was not quite an answer.”

She smirked at him and continued, “No, it wasn’t. But I look forward to helping you make new friends.”

“Well, I …” Solas trailed off and Arasinya was pleased by the effect her words had upon him.

“That was not quite an answer either,” she claimed as she removed herself from the fence. When she had first come to Solas to speak it had been mid-afternoon; now evening was rapidly approaching. “We’ll have to continue at a later time,” Lavellan stated as she saw Cassandra leaving the Chantry and moving toward her. “But thank you for our conversation. It was enlightening.”

She left him without looking back, wondering at her audacity to flirt so openly with someone she did not know, but empowered by the knowledge that she had done it. It had been some time since she had felt a connection with another of her kind and in her joy she may have overstepped her boundary with him. If she had, it was a shame, but if not, she may need to pursue the matter more rigorously.

 

* * *

 

The Inquisition’s work had begun and Lavellan was rising up to meet every challenge the world gave to her. Solas knew that Lavellan felt some hesitance in working for a group that claimed the Maker's banner, but Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen assured her that while the Inquisition and the Chantry were often confused, they were not trying to spread the Chant of Light through force - they merely wished to bring the world back to order. When Solas and Lavellan had spoken again after their first real conversation, she had explained that the Inquisition's mission was one that she could understand and support, even if she ardently disagreed with the Chantry. The mage and Templar conflict had repercussions far beyond the humans' influence, so much so that her clan had felt the need to send one of their own into the very heart of the Chantry to seek a solution. 

According to Lavellan, she had never been out of the Free Marshes and he watched as she was enraptured by the world as they moved through Fereldan and Orlais to turn the tide of the war. In the Hinterlands she had marveled at the height and diversity of trees and had done her best to help the refugees of the mage and Templar’s fighting. She found blankets and food and she cleared out the feuding mages and Templars from the Gold Road all while smiling, her willingness to be helpful despite the opposition they faced.  

Against his better judgment, Solas was impressed by the Dalish. She did not turn her nose down at the non-Dalish elves or humans that had asked them for help and seemed to go out of her way to do as much as possible for the common people. She was not without her quirks, however.

“She’s climbing another tree,” Varric sighed as they watched Lavellan disappear into a large fir tree.

Having heard him, Lavellan called down, “That’s what elves _do_ , Varric. We climb trees and then we frolic through the woods, chasing butterflies. Ask Solas, he knows.”

With a chuckle Solas agreed, “Yes and if we can find the time we talk to birds and plants.”

A few moments later Lavellan cried that she could see the farm they were looking for. She shimmied down the tree and dropped at least a dozen feet to land cat-like in a crouch. Without a pause for breath she clamored up a hill toward the farm while gesturing for them to come along.

“Not all of us are elves, Herald,” Varric complained as they climbed the hill, his brow and silk shirt soaked with sweat from the effort of trying to keep up with Lavellan's swift feet. “Some of us are a lot closer to the ground or wearing heavy armor.”

“Well we’re about to get horses, so stop complaining,” Lavellan retorted over her shoulder. 

“I don’t like horses either!” Varric exclaimed as Lavellan disappeared over the summit. “Maker’s ass, it’s like she’s five.”

“I actually do not know the Herald’s age,” Cassandra admitted. “Leliana's dossier said nothing of her age since births are not recorded by the Dalish. She must be at least thirty, but I have never asked."

“Really? I always guessed she was a teenager, at best maybe twenty.”

“She is far too mature to be so young,” Cassandra returned.

“Well, she’s running around and climbing trees like she’s five, so she’s five.”

When they found the horse farm and Lavellan had spoken with Master Dennit and his family, she was given a horse to practice riding in exchange for helping secure the area. After marking the areas for the watchtowers to be built and closing the rifts around the farm, Lavellan eagerly approached the stables to meet her horse.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before, Herald?” Cassandra asked.

“I’ve ridden Halla all my life,” Lavellan answered enthusiastically, her face full of excitement. “Before my magic manifested I was being trained to take care of the Halla in my clan and so I rode every day.”

“Horses are not like halla, da’len,” Solas commented.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to ride one,” Lavellan grinned. "They're so  _large_. Being that high up ... I wonder if that's what it feels like to be a Qunari."

Varric and Solas did not bother with the horses but Cassandra and Lavellan both trotted around the yard and practiced the tracks that Dennet’s daughter had set up. At first Lavellan was cautious of the huge horse and moved slowly, whispering encouraging words to both of them as they grew used to one another, but she was a natural rider and before long she was traversing the tracks at breakneck speeds, her black braid trailing behind her.

When she dismounted to let the horse rest she whispered to the horse in low elven phrases and the horse whickered at her and mussed her hair while sniffing her. Solas caught himself staring at her laughing lips perhaps too long before Cassandra rode up to the group and suggested they return to Haven to get started on building the watchtowers.

“Can we ride back on the horses?” Lavellan asked, her eyes lit up like a child asking for a treat.

“The two men in our party do not seem to be interested in riding,” Cassandra replied with a hint of mirth. “Perhaps we can find a small ass for Varric?”

“Oh my, did the Seeker just attempt a _joke_? At _my_ expense?” He asked of Solas and Lavellan, mock upset. “Is the world coming to an end? Oh, wait, yes it is." He sighed and approached Cassandra, his hands held out to her. "I suppose there have been stranger things. Pull me up on the horse, Seeker and I’ll ride behind you.”

She stared at him with disdain. “No.” Cassandra pulled on her horse’s reigns to remove herself from Varric but he followed, chasing after Seeker and horse while telling her that this was the experience they needed to bring them closer together as friends. Lavellan roared with laughter and even Solas found himself chuckling at the antics before Varric finally tripped and fell in mud.

“We’ll walk the horses for now, I think,” Lavellan said between her fits of laughter as she helped Varric up. She gave him a friendly pat on the back as Varric removed the worse of the mud from his person, laughing.


	3. In Hushed Whispers Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan and the gang try to find out what old man Alexius is up to at the haunted Redcliffe Castle. Hilarity ensues as everyone is tortured and dies from red lyrium. Yay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday!
> 
> So I wasn't originally going to include the darkest future timeline, I mean alternative future, but I thought it might add some character development or whatever. Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

# In Hushed Whispers Part I

As the Inquisition gained more power, it gained more allies. Arasinya had recruited several in person: a mercenary group led by a Qunari spy, a solitary Grey Warden, a pretentious Circle mage, and a crazed elf. Their perceptions of her and her relationships with them were changing her into someone important, someone that did not hesitate to make decisions. Although she worked for the Inquisition as an Agent and often acted as a mouthpiece for the organization, she was content that no one had yet tried to convert her or insisted that she pray to the Shemlen god. She was helping people as much as possible, but the Breach still remained.

Mages or Templars? Arranging an alliance to close the Breach was their next move.

She took advice first to weight the pros and cons, though she knew in her heart who she would rather work with. Iron Bull, Vivienne, Sera, and Cassandra thought Templars were the better choice while Varric, Blackwall, and Solas thought mages were the best choice. Her mind was filled with well-founded opinions that ended up confusing her more than anything else. To clear her mind, she often took one of the horses out riding, though of late she had been taking the Hart that they had acquired after Master Dennit had joined the Inquisition. The antlers reminded her of Halla, though she had never encountered a halla anywhere near the size of the Hart. The Hart was gray with a white forehead and loved to eat mint leaves out of Arasinya's satchel when she was not looking. She named the Hart Mint and after the beast had a name, Arasinya would seldom ride any other creature. 

Haven had become as much as a home as it could be considering her extensive family did not live there and there were roofs over her head instead of trees and the food tasted strange to her. Sometimes she wished to write to her clan to request for her younger brother to join her here, but she knew he would refuse. He barely tolerated Shemlen, as most of her clan did, and would not abide being in their presence for long. So she made Haven home by completing tasks that she would do with her clan: she gathered herbs, tended the stables, put sprigs of thistle in her clothing, and insisted on being out of doors as often as possible. By keeping busy, her yearning to return home ebbed and dissipated. 

The sun was setting as she returned to Haven after one of her rides wherein she pondered the options the Inquisition had for an alliance. On the ride she had gathered several herbs for the various potions and poultices she was making for the people of Haven. As a First apprentice she had known many recipes for healing and soothing and her healing magic had been unparalleled, so she sought to put her skills to good use. Varric sometimes asked if she could sing Free Marsher songs to remind him of home and she obliged as well as she could when there was a harp free in the tiny tavern. He would hum along or listen silently, but she enjoyed having a captive audience in him. Sometimes others would join to watch and the tavern bard even offered some tips for her songs and to exchange songs as she knew few Free Marsher songs and the bard knew many Ferelden and Orlesian songs.

Cullen greeted her as she stabled her Hart and she resisted the urge to flirt mercilessly with the man. He was adorable, like a puppy, and the temptation to wrap him around her finger was strong. He was always stammering about her if he was not speaking about a topic he was familiar with or if the topic was something personal. But she did her best not to take advantage of him and only gently flirted if the temptation was too great.

Cullen wore an enamored smile as Arasinya left him, bidding him good night. She climbed the steps up into Haven proper and waved her hellos to Iron Bull and Varric as she passed them. As she approached the building where potions and poultices were made to drop off her supplies, Solas emerged from his cabin.

“Da’len,” Solas greeted her. He had taken to using the term after their first conversation. She did not know if it was meant to create a rift between them or if was merely recognizing the difference in their ages but she did not like being referred to as a child or novice - not that she had been bold enough to tell him this, of course. When they were able to exchange greetings, Arasinya usually had no problem talking to the man. At those times he would address her as "da'len" and her mind would categorize him as an elder, someone to respect and to learn from; however, after these quick exchanges she was always left with the feeling as though he were superior to her somehow because of the distinction he made in addressing her. She did not like feeling inferior, but she swallowed her pride and continued to answer to "da'len" when he spoke to her. But there were other moments, when his smile quirked at her and his stormy eyes crinkled in mischief that Arasinya did not want to be “da’len” to him anymore. She wanted to be “lethallan” and she wanted him to see her for the woman she was and not the child he seemed to think her.

Perhaps there was more to that particular line of thought, but she felt neither he nor she was was ready to explore their feelings if they existed.

She forced a smile and replied, “Hahren. What can I do for you?”

Solas approached her and she battled with the flush that threatened to rise to her cheeks at his nearness. Today, Solas would cause her to be foolish. She cursed herself for her inability to act coherently on a regular basis but was grateful for the evening that would hide her coloring. She had not had this sort of trouble hiding her emotions since she was barely a woman. 

“Have you considered the Inquisition’s likely alliance with either the mages or Templars?” Solas asked her, his tone serious.

“Extensively,” she replied, finding her gaze on her hands. “Everyone has their opinion and yet I will be the one to offer the alliance. I have not yet weighed in on the matter with the others.”

Solas chuckled and commented, “It is strange to see the humans wait on the opinion of an elf.”

“Well, I’m trying to be accommodating for the giant hole in the sky, but it’s still not to be taken lightly,” Arasinya replied. Her hand had wondered to the end of her braid to absently play with its strands but once she noticed the movement she forced her hand to stop. She clinched her hand by her side. 

“I agree, it is best to be cautious considering the importance of the alliance, but you must already have a preference.”

“I would ally with the mages, of course,” she answered without hesitation. She was taken aback by her conviction but continued, "They have the most to gain from an alliance and the most to lose if we do not ally with them."

“Possibly the least popular of all the outcomes you could choose with our alliance, but I admit I'm glad that it is the option you would choose,” Solas commended.

“If I left the mages to the Imperium, it would only serve to make them less favorable in Thedas. As a mage, that would not be in my best interest,” Arasinya explained. “And, if we’re speaking frankly, I think it would result in genocide of mages in Ferelden and Orlais if we did not ally with them.”

“A fair point and I believe you are correct in your assumption,” Solas agreed.

“Well, I am certainly looking forward to telling our resident ex-Seeker and ex-Templar what I believe we should do,” Arasinya joked, trying to make light of the situation.

“You should inform them as soon as possible,” Solas advised, not responding to the joke.

“Of course,” she agreed solemnly. “I’ll see them after I am finished here. Thank you for your console.”

“You are welcome, da’len,” Solas said before descending the steps and resuming his original reason for leaving his cabin.

She left without another word and grew angry with herself. “Da’len, indeed,” she muttered under her breath. Her interest in him had been expressed and yet she did not seem to be making any impression upon him. Perhaps she could be more obvious or forward, but she did not think Solas would respond to her if she was not clever or subtle in her flirting.

But better still, perhaps she should not worry about flirting at all and focus on being the Herald of Andraste, whatever that entailed. She set her shoulders in determination and, after dropping off her herbs, informed the Inquisition’s advisers of her opinion.

 

* * *

 

When choosing the companions she would choose to go to Redcliffe Castle to meet with the mages to offer an alliance, Lavellan had little choice in the matter. Dorian, the Tevinter mage who had informed her in Redcliffe about Magister Alexius' nefarious intentions, had to go as he was most familiar with the magic Alexius was using and how to get past his magical wards and Lavellan believed Cassandra the next best choice as she had helped form the Inquisition and could cancel out any unfriendly magic should they be forced into a confrontation. When she came to Solas and asked her to accompany their group to treaty with the mages, he was pleasantly surprised. Once they were on the road, he inquired about why she had chosen him to accompany the Inquisition. 

“You and I are both apostates raised outside the Circle and yet we are held in good standing by the Inquisition,” Lavellan explained as they left Haven for Redcliffe with several of Leliana’s spies and Cullen’s soldiers traveling about them. Since Dennit had joined the Inquisition most, if not all, of their soldiers had horses to ride upon. “It will show the mages that with the Inquisition they do not need to fear for their freedom.”

“You cannot let all mages be free, Herald,” Cassandra objected on their trek. Lavellan, Leliana, Cassandra, Dorian, and Solas rode in a small group at the head of the line. “All mages could become abominations, they must be carefully watched, even you.”

“Vivienne said just as much, as did many others,” Lavellan sighed, her hand absently rubbing the Hart’s neck. “I wish you could see life as a mage from our perspective, perhaps you would better understand my reasoning.”

“I have more insight than into the lives of mages than you may assume,” Cassandra replied with a sideways glance. “In any case, whether we conscript them or ally with them, they shall be able to help you close the Breach.”

“I hope the Inquisition is better than conscripting mages,” Dorian muttered under his breath once Cassandra had pulled ahead on her horse.

Before coming to Redcliffe Castle, Dorian, Leliana, and most of the soldiers broke off from the group to find the secret passage into the castle that Leliana knew of from her days adventuring with the Hero of Ferelden, Queen-Consort Cousland. Lavellan was to act as a distraction for Alexius while the forces infiltrated the castle and Solas could not say he was happy with the plan. She and the mark on her hand was too precious to be throwing at a Magister that just so happened to be part of a cult obsessed with her and the anchor. Should she be hurt or captured, they may lose their only means of closing the Breach.

Her hands shook as they entered the castle gates and immediately surrounded by Alexius’s forces, but her voice was strong as she demanded to be taken to Alexius to negotiate their arrangement for the mages’ help. With some reluctance, Alexius’s guards brought Lavellan, Cassandra, and Solas into the main hall where the magister waited for them.

“My friend, it is so good to see you again,” Alexius remarked as he stood up from the seat usually occupied by Arl Teagan Guerrin. The hall was cavernous and dark and his voice bounced off every stone as he continued, “And your associates, of course. I’m sure we can work out an arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

When Grand Enchanter Fiona objected to not having a say in the negotiations, Lavellan insisted that the Orlesian elf speak on the mages’ behalf and Alexius was not pleased with her words. He sat down once more and demanded to know what the Inquisition would offer in return for allowing the mages to help them close the Breach.

He heard Lavellan taking a deep breath to steady herself. She lifted her chin as she declared, “I will offer you nothing at all." A smug smile came across her face and Solas wondered to where the woman with the shaking hands had disappeared. “I plan to take the mages you have here and leave. And you will not lift a finger.”

“And how do you imagine you’ll accomplish such a feat?” Alexius asked incredulously.

“She knows everything, father,” Felix explained. He revealed that he had already informed the Inquisition of Alexius’ intentions. Alexius seemed confused at Felix’s admission and did not acknowledge the betrayal. As Lavellan tried to explain that his son was simply concerned for him and wanted to help, Alexius called her a thief.

“You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don’t even understand, and think you’re in control?” Alexius snorted as he stood up once more and approached her. “You’re nothing but a mistake.”

“If you know so much, enlighten me,” Lavellan responded, her eyes narrowed. “Tell me what this mark is for.”

“It belongs to your betters. You would not even begin to understand its purpose.”

Felix disrupted his father’s tirade and before Alexius had a chance to respond to his son, Dorian appeared from one of the side halls. He strutted in and goaded Alexius into disclosing that he was working for the Elder One, a figure whose power Dorian was fool to turn down. The Elder One would make the world bow to mages once he ascended to godhood. Dorian and Felix both tried to appeal to Alexius, to make him see the error of his ways, but Alexius was determined to save Felix and the Elder One had promised to remove the sickness in Felix should he eliminate Lavellan.

Solas’ eyes darted to the sides of the room as Alexius’s guards fell to silent arrows and daggers. It seemed Leliana and Cullen’s forces were making quick work of the guards. Now Lavellan only had to defeat this madman, to convince him to give up this scheme so that the mages could join the Inquisition. Alexius directed his attention back to Lavellan and ordered his men to seize her. But his men were dead and Alexius watched in horror as the Inquisition’s forces were closing in on the hall.

“You are a mistake,” Alexius repeated as he lifted a strange amulet that he activated. Solas disliked the magic emanating from it and could not discern its origin or purpose. “You should have never have existed.”

The magic rushed toward them but Dorian moved quickly and cried, “No!” Everyone in the hall fell to the ground as Dorian redirected the magic and a great rumble shook the stones of the castle, causing several to dislodge and fall upon them. Solas dodged out of their way but he could not see what else was happening as his eyes were shut closed from the dust and magic. After several moments of coughing as the fallen stones settled Solas opened his eyes and searched for Lavellan on the ground beside him but he only found the Seeker.

“Herald?” Cassandra was already shouting. “Lavellan? Where are you?”

“Where is she?” Leliana asked as she entered the hall. As Cassandra gained her feet both women turned toward Alexius with their questions, but he was already at work overpowering them. Felix was frozen in a magic prison of Alexius’s making and lightning crackled from the magister’s fingers as he subdued both the Seeker and Spymaster.

Solas gained his feet and cast a barrier over the three of them. He conjured Fade energy to knock Alexius off his feet and freeze him in place with ice. His eyes searched rapidly for Lavellan, who seemed to have disappeared, as he and the others attempted to hold back the Venatori reinforcements that had joined them in the hall at the commotion. Both the Seeker and Spymaster were talented warriors and Cassandra’s abilities were effective against Alexius’ magic but as more and more reinforcements came to Alexius’ side, they were overwhelmed. Even as the last of the Inquisition’s forces were killed, the three of them fought tooth and nail until their arrows, energy, and magic were depleted.

Defeated, the three were shackled. Solas glared at Alexius, assuming he would see the latter in ecstasies about his victory over Lavellan but the man was worried. He looked between Felix and the empty space where Lavellan and Dorian once stood and shook his head.

“This was not supposed to happen,” Alexius muttered as they were dragged away to the dungeons below the castle. Solas’ last glimpse of the magister was of him releasing his son and attempting to apologize.

Tears of rage streamed down Cassandra’s eyes as they led them to the prisons that would be their home for the next year as they were tortured into madness. The Seeker muttered and screamed, “My fault, my fault” as they fed them red lyrium while the Spymaster remained silent, as always. Their bodies were changed and mutated into a vessel for poison that spewed forth from the shattered earth. Days and weeks and months passed with little word from the outside world. A demon army, the Empress’s assassination, and the Elder One rising to power: all whispers from the guards as they made their rounds about the dungeons, poking their prisoners and checking the growth of lyrium. With the Breach ever growing and Lavellan gone, Thedas had been lost.

Solas endured the solitude, but his mind was fret with lament. He could not move from his cell, could not wander and even the Fade had bent to the Elder One’s control. No spirits inhabited the Fade for they had been summoned to the physical world as demons. What friends he had, what comfort his dreams could have offered, all were gone.

The guilt crushed upon his chest as much as the red lyrium choked the life out of him. The Elder One was a god because of his own failings. There was so much he should have done, so much he could have prevented if he had only been wiser, less proud. If he could have only saved her, then none of this would have happened. Her loss weighed heavily upon his heart. He often recited the words she had once said to him, that she would protect him however she had to. At least her death had been swift and she had not suffered to see the state the world had become or tortured into madness as the Spymaster had.

Over time the screams and yells of the other prisoners around him turned to moans and sobbing and then into nothing. They were being turned into red lyrium and those whose bodies had turned completely into lyrium were harvested once it reached their lungs and they suffocated. Solas felt the lyrium digging at his body and spirit but his willpower kept it at bay. Although his vision had turned red and his voice graveled like stone, he still had his mind, unlike many others.

Sometimes they would remove him from his prison and torture him. They knew he held no secrets about the now-destroyed Inquisition nor would he divulge his own, but the guards were bored after the Elder One had devoured the world and to hear the screams and grunts of tortured souls sometime brought them amusement. They pulled back his nails, ironed his ears, and subjected his body to other heartless pains. Agony, he told himself as he quivered from shock in his prison, was temporary. To pass into the Fade through death would be no comfort. To die would give no satisfaction to anyone.

They let him keep the jawbone he wore around his neck. It had been used to inflect pains upon him by his torturers but in the cell in the dead of eternal night his broken fingers trailed the lines of the bone and the sharp teeth. Such power he used to have and yet he forsworn that power, cut his hair, and renounced that life. If only he were strong once more, he could have prevented Lavellan’s death and prevented the destruction of Thedas.

His dreams were no respite and often he could not tell the difference between his waking and sleeping. Visions came to him of people long lost to the world to scold him for his shortcomings and haunt his conscious. When Lavellan stood before his cell with the Tevinter mage, he did not believe his eyes. A dream, a cruel vision. But the rumble of the gate as Laveallan’s magic destroyed the lock and the gate was forced open shocked him into believing his eyes.

“You’re alive?” He croaked as he stood up to face them. How long had it been since he had spoken? “We saw you die!”

Yet she was untouched. She looked exactly like she had on the day she had died: her black hair still in its braid over her shoulder, her eyes clear and iridescent in the dark. She and the Tevinter mage had not been touched by this world and its evils.

Dorian explained that the spell Alexius had cast had simply displaced them in time, that they had just arrived. Lavellan covered her mouth with her hand, her eyebrows knitted in worry as Solas stepped out from his prison and entered the dim light of the dungeon. He knew he must look terrible, but the pity in Lavellan’s eyes was difficult to meet.

“Can you reverse the process?” Solas asked after Dorian’s explanation. “You could return and obviate the events of the last year. It may not be too late.”

“That’s what we hope to achieve, yes,” Lavellan replied, her eyes downcast. “I’m glad you understand what’s going on.”

“You would think such understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong,” Solas scoffed. “But you know nothing of this world. It is far worse than you understand.” He proceeded to explain the events of the last year and what had happened to Thedas. “After you stop Alexius, you must be prepared.”

“We could use your help,” Lavellan implored.

“If there is any hope, any way to save them, my life is yours,” he replied solemnly. “This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass. We must find the Seeker.”

Lavellan passed him a staff that she had taken off a guard and the satisfaction of holding a weapon once more was overwhelming. He could not wait to use it on his captors.

The castle was infected with the red lyrium and had blocked off many hallways and rooms but Dorian, Lavellan, and Solas managed to find the Seeker in a solitary cell. After they freed her Lavellan was upset to see Cassandra’s sorry state, though she hid it well. After they explained that the Herald had not truly died, only been displaced in time, Lavellan placed her hands on the Seeker’s forearms and promised vengeance upon Alexius and that this future would never come to pass. Once the Seeker was armed, the four of them searched the dungeons for Leliana. Neither Solas nor Cassandra had heard from her for many weeks, possibly months. As they approached the rooms where both had been tortured numerous times, they heard raised voices behind a closed door and Lavellan opened it.               

Leliana had by far suffered the worse. She would hear none of Dorian’s explanations once she had snapped her torturer’s neck and Lavellan had released her from her shackles - all the Nightingale wanted was absolution. Solas found himself agreeing with the haggard Spymaster and eagerly followed her as they made their way through Redcliffe Castle to find Alexius.

“This is terrible,” Lavellan muttered to Dorian. “Only one year has passed and yet there is so much chaos.”

“The Elder One moves quickly, it seems,” the mage mused. “A demon army, a high-profile assassination, the Inquisition crushed – quite the busy evil god. Probably an over-achiever.”

“All this happened because you died, Herald,” Cassandra remarked having overheard Lavellan’s words.

“I’m so sorry that all this happened to you,” Lavellan replied.

“If you can correct the past, then you will not have to apologize for anything,” Solas returned. “You have the potential to save the world, da’len. You must not waste that opportunity.”

“Even in the future you call me da’len,” Lavellan chuckled. As Solas cocked an eyebrow at her statement she shook her head and explained, “It does not matter now.”

When they confronted Alexius, Lavellan tried to reason with him to recover the amulet that had sent Dorian and her through time. Alexius’s vigor had been crushed and he seemed to have accepted his fate to be destroyed by the Elder One for failing to remove Lavellan from time. Leliana forced their hand by threatening to kill Felix, who had been turned into a mindless creature by the darkspawn taint, and when Alexius agreed to hand the amulet over to them should they spare Felix, she drew the knife across Felix’s throat.

They were forced to kill Alexius after he attacked them but they were able to recover the amulet from his body. Dorian spoke of taking at least an hour to work the spell but Solas, Leliana, and Cassandra immediately protested.

“An hour?” Leliana spat. “That’s impossible! You must go now!” The castle shook as she spoke from some force outside. A deafening roar echoed overhead as stones fell from the ceiling. “The Elder One,” she hissed.

“You cannot stay here,” Solas implored. He looked at the Seeker and she understood what needed to be done and nodded her acknowledgement. “We’ll hold the outer door. When they get past us, then it will be your turn.”

When Lavellan could not bring herself to reply, Leliana insisted, “Look at us. We are already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes.”

He took one last look at Lavellan, his chest surging with hope that she could prevent this future. His body and spirit had been broken, but she could change everything and save all of them. He knew he would not remember what had happened to him should they change the past, but he wished he could remember her at this moment, the determination in her eyes as she watched them leave.

“Cast your spell,” Leliana ordered as they approached the door with him and Cassandra. “You have as much time as I have arrows.”

He and Cassandra exited the main hall and came out into the courtyard. Leliana closed the door behind them and he heard the bar being lowered. As they waited for the Elder One to find them, he looked up at the sky completely broken by the Breach. What a terrible future. How wrong he had been. How much hurt he had caused because of his pride. He should have never tried to undo his mistakes for he had seen what his actions had wrought. Nothing was worth this.

The demons came first and Cassandra, weak and as broken as he, was a formidable opponent due to her Seeker training. She would last longer than him against the demons. He battled them for as long as possible but as the shadow of a grand beast passed over them, he felt his life extinguish in a blaze of fire and an arrow through his chest. He fell to the ground in enough time to see the demons breaking the door and Lavellan stepping through the magic Dorian had cast. He reached out to Lavellan as his body was thrown aside.

“Dareth shiral, lethallan.”


	4. In Hushed Whispers Part II

# In Hushed Whispers Part II

“Herald?” Cassandra cried from beyond the spell that swirled around her like a black cloud as Arasinya and Dorian moved through time. “Lavellan? Where are you?”

As she stepped through the spell and back into Redcliffe Castle one year in the past, Arasinya kept her focus on Alexius. The temptation to look, to assure herself that her friends were whole and safe was overwhelming but she knew the magister to be resourceful.

“You will have to do better than that,” Dorian quipped, completely stealing her moment of triumph. She made a mental note to never bring Dorian along if she expected to say something badass and reigned in the glare that threatened to be unleashed upon him.

Alexius fell to his knees as she approached him. As she bore down upon him, her staff at the ready, she asked, “Is that all you’ve got?”

“You’ve won,” Alexius muttered. “There is no point in extending this charade.” Alexius looked up at his son, who came to kneel beside him. “Felix.”

“It will be alright, father,” Felix comforted him.

“But you’ll die.”

“Everyone dies.”

The Inquisition’s forces took Alexius away and for a moment Arasinya allowed herself the relief of seeing Leliana, Cassandra, and Solas intact. None of them glowed red or showed signs of a broken soul though she had only seen them mere minutes ago in the future - it seemed as though that since Arasinya and Dorian had changed the past, they would never know of the future they had lived. Had she not been aware of every eye in the room upon her, she would have run up to them and embraced all of them.

Just as Dorian was expressing his own relief of having thwarted Alexius, they were interrupted by the arrival of royal soldiers and their charge, King Alistair. Arasinya knew little of the royal save that he was a popular monarch and married to the Hero of Ferelden, but she could not help but feel some awe at having seen an actual king, even if he was a Shem. As he verbally berated the Grand Enchanter for giving Redcliffe to a Tevinter Magister, Arasinya could not help but ask Dorian in a whisper why the Hero of Ferelden, Alistair’s queen, was not with him.

When King Alistair banished Fiona and her mages, Arasinya stopped gossiping behind her hand and stepped forward to remind everyone present that she had come to Redcliffe for mages to help close the Breach. Dorian, Cassandra, and Solas offered their opinion on the matter once more and she disregarded all of them and went with what she knew was right.

“We would be honored to have the mages fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side,” Arasinya announced to the room.

“We’ll discuss this, later,” Cassandra muttered.

The arrangements were made with Fiona, the terms considered, and the Grand Enchanter accepted the offer with little choice, though Arasinya felt that they had been generous in their offer as the mages would be free to leave the Inquisition as soon as they were no longer needed. They agreed to meet at Haven later as Fiona made her people ready for the journey, but for now the Inquisition would station some soldiers with them to help guard from any hostiles.

As the royal entourage and mages left, Arasinya turned back to the others and she felt her throat constrict at the sight of all them whole and safe. She covered her mouth and Cassandra asked what was wrong but she waved them away and insisted that Dorian explain what happened.

“I will never allow that future to happen,” Lavellan promised after Dorian had explained the dark future they had experienced. “I vow that we will close the Breach and the Elder One will never enter the Fade.”

“We shall have to investigate these claims,” Leliana remarked. “But you look shaken, Herald, and you are covered in blood. Perhaps it would be best to return to Haven now?”

“Yes, I would like that very much,” she sighed happily. They gathered their prisoners and left Redcliffe Castle, passing through the village where many of the locals spit and booed at the magister in chains, but cheered for the Inquisition for taking the Tevinters and mages out of the Hinterlands.

“Are you alright, da’len?” Solas asked once they were outside of Redcliffe and on their mounts. “You look distressed.”

No one was around them for the others were ahead of them discussing the future they had seen in great detail and the Inquisition’s forces were behind them as they were much larger and slower despite being mounted. She tried to look at Solas, to meet his eyes, but it was difficult to separate what she had seen in the future from the present. It had never happened and yet she remembered how the red lyrium had filled his and Cassandra’s eyes.

“I saw all of you die,” she uttered. Her fists clinched around Mint's reigns as she continued, “I saw the world fail because I was not there to close the Breach. So yes, I am shaken at what my failure could mean.”

“That future will not happen now.”

“We don’t know that,” Lavellan lamented. She glanced at him and remembered how his future-self had said that even if he had understanding of the future he would still make the same mistakes. At the time she had been too busy trying to fight through Alexius' forces and undoing the past to really contemplate what he had said. What mistake had he meant? She ventured, “You said something to me in the future, something I didn’t understand.”

“I very much doubt I would be able to shed light on something I said in a future that will never happen,” Solas cautioned.

“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded. “But it was still an odd thing to say.”

As Solas pulled his mount away from her, she reflected on the future Solas’ words. She knew the future now and she would have to do everything in her power to prevent it. The world that the Elder One had created had been possible because she had never closed the Breach. Now they had the means to do so, she would have to do everything and anything within her power to prevent that future. Her life would be worth nothing if she could not.

 

* * *

 

Mages were coming into the camp in droves since they had returned from Redcliffe Castle to the general discomfort of the Templars already at Haven. After speaking with her advisors, the tired Herald had found a platform and announced to the Inquisition that they were now allies with the mages of southern Thedas and her words were met with scorn. Solas watched as Arasinya listened to the complaints and insults hurled at her and addressed them with as much patience as she could muster in her exhausted state.

Her advisors stood behind Lavellan as she was bombarded with sneers and discontent, but none spoke a word of support to her. It was not until Cullen muttered that they should have allied with the Templars did Lavellan’s face twisted into anger.

“No, we should not have,” Lavellan snarled as she turned to face the now-startled commander. “The Templars would have won us more friends, but at the cost of throwing away the lives of every mage not working with the Inquisition.

“Your Herald of Andraste is a Dalish Apostate Mage,” Lavellan turned back and announced to the now silent crowd, putting enunciation on each distasteful word to the crowd.  “And I have known the hatred of those who are afraid of what they don’t understand. My magic has saved me more times than I can count and I will not be ashamed for it. Nor shall I vilify my fellow mages for being frightened of the hatred they earn for something they cannot help. I offered the mages an alliance because they have no other allies in this world.”

A smile crept across Solas’ face as he watched Lavellan support the mages and defend them with a passion he had not known she possessed. He had never seen the young woman so incensed, nor had he seen the humans so shocked. Though they had accepted that their chosen savior was a strange Dalish elf, she had always been so compliant and had never brought her heritage to the forefront as she was doing right now. 

“She may have a knack for speech making, if they don’t kill her first.”

Solas looked down at Varric, who was smoking his pipe and watching Lavellan posturize to the crowd. They watched as the elf made her case and addressed more issues from concerned members of the Inquisition.

“Mages are dangerous, Herald!” One Chantry Sister claimed to the general agreement of the crowd. “They can become possessed and practice blood magic!”

“Any man or woman can be dangerous,” Arasinya retorted, as gently as possible considering her indignation. “Any man can pick up a sword and become a murderer. We all have a choice to do what is right, no matter what circumstances we are born under or forced into. These mages have pledged themselves to the Inquisition because they are grateful that we intervened on their behalf. They will serve with us and die with us. We shall not treat them differently because of their nature. And that is all I want to hear on the matter.”

Lavellan descended from the platform and went into the Chantry with her advisors. The crowd dispersed, though they were clearly still upset at the Herald’s decision to accept the mages as allies. Doubt in their Herald was whispered through the camp. As Lavellan dragged her feet beside her advisors, her hands waving in yet another argument, Varric let out a low whistle.

“I don’t envy her. Not one bit,” Varric remarked.

“Nor do I,” Solas replied. “It is never easy to be in a position of power.”

“Which is why I always let others make the important decisions,” Varric chuckled.

“And what is your opinion of Lavellan’s choice of allies?”

His question was met with a lazy shrug. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me either way. I’ve known some damn good mages, like Hawke and Daisy, but I’ve known some pretty shitty ones too. Then again, that can be said of any group of people. As long as they close the Breach, I don’t care.”

“You are remarkably pragmatic, Child of the Stone,” Solas commended.

“I think pragmatism is needed in times like these. There’s just not enough of it going around,” Varric sighed. “I just hope she can handle the shit she’s going to get for allying with the mages.”

With a silent agreement, Solas left the dwarf’s presence and approached the Chantry building. It was not a place he enjoyed visiting as his time spent there studying Lavellan’s mark had been a torturous time with Cassandra accusing him of being an accomplice and hounding him for results he could not produce. The Circle mage had also taken residence inside the building and after she had called him an unwashed apostate hobo, he did not wish to be bequeathed with her unpleasant presence.

He settled into an outside corner of the building and ruminated on the memories of it. This was an old Chantry and it had a dark history. He had explored in the Fade the memories of the building and the days when it had housed a dragon cult, a perverted version of the humans' Andraste. He often shook his head often at the folly of humans, but he knew how awe inspiring dragons could be. 

At some point he had fallen asleep and he wondered through the Fade as he slept. There were few spirits in the area due to the Breach, but he still picked up on echoes of them. He was aware of a figure standing over him as he moved through the Fade. It appeared to be a woman with pleated hair and robes similar to what might have been worn in the times of Arlathan. He shook his head in disbelief and the image faded to a woman with a braid and ill-fitted tunic. He realized that someone must be near him in the physical world.

He blinked into consciousness to see Lavellan kneeling next to him, reaching out to to wake him. When their eyes met she smiled wearily at him and retracted her hand to better sit back on her heels.

As he stood up, Lavellan rose as well and for a moment he regarded their slight height distance with some pleasure. It was not often that others looked up at him and when she lifted her eyes, the light caught her irises so that they glinted like ice in the sun. They were stunning to behold.

“I worried that you may get frostbite, sleeping in the snow like that,” Lavellan sighed at him. “What were you doing?”

His eyes roamed over hers, studying the delicate hairs of her lashes as he replied to her question, “Other than becoming frostbitten? I wanted to commend you for your decision to ally with the mages. There was not time at Redcliffe to properly say so.”

Her weary smile grew in appeasement and he felt the corners of his mouth lift involuntarily at her reaction. She was grateful for his words. “You’re the first person to really say so since the alliance was made, save for Dorian. Thank you.”

“I am surprised to see a Tevinter mage join our ranks,” Solas remarked, his concern over the new member of the Inquisition momentarily distracting him from her bright eyes.

“Were it not for Dorian, none of us would have returned from Redcliffe,” Lavellan sighed and she looked away from him and at her hands. Her gaze was distant, as though she were reliving her time in the dark future. She looked back at him and her eyes were filled with such sadness that he almost reached out to her, but she broke the connection and looked at the Breach instead. Although the future she had seen should not come to pass, it had left a terrible impression upon her. She continued, “It’s given us a hint at whatever this Elder One has planned, but it was still horrible to see how far we could fall and how much I could lose.”

Following her gaze, Solas looked at the Breach as well. They stood side by side, watching the sky’s wound coil upon itself and rumble with hurt.

“You accepted the mages as our allies instead of conscripting them, like you wanted to do,” Solas commented.

“I did,” Lavellan murmured. “I still do not know if it was the right choice, but if felt right.”

“We will be able to close the Breach soon, I take it?”

“The last of the mages should be here by the end of the week,” Lavellan informed him. She rested her hands on her hips and her whole body seemed to droop with relief. “It will be closed soon. But until such time we still need to close any tears in the Veil that may arise.”

“You’ve essentially stopped the mage-templar rebellion, da’len,” Solas praised her. “And once the Breach is closed, no one will doubt that you were sent by Andraste, though they may doubt you now.”

She grinned awkwardly and muttered, “Great, no pressure in that case.”

“None at all,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Are you worried that the Breach will not be closed?”

“Perhaps a little, but what worries me is what will happen after,” Lavellan admitted, her eyes downcast.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m the Herald of Andraste now. What will I be after the Breach is closed? What will the Inquisition be?”

“No one will doubt that you were chosen by Andraste if you close the Breach," Solas surmised. He saw the worry in her face and asked, "What is it?"

"I don't like the idea of what could happen if I am elevated to such prominence," she muttered. 

Solas understood. She feared the burden of leading others. "You were your Keeper’s First, is that not correct?” Lavellan nodded in response. “You would have been the Keeper for your clan, would that not have also been a position of importance, of leadership?”

She was silent for a long time, her hands wringing slightly until she seemed to notice their movement and they halted. Finally, she looked up and admitted, “I never wanted to be Keeper.” She looked back at her hands again. “Our last First Apprentice was a young man, in excellent health. I thought he would become the Keeper and live a long life and I could help teach my replacement so that I could continue to _not_ be the Keeper. I hated that I had no choice in the matter, but I liked being an Apprentice so if I was able to continue being one, I was content. Then our First grew ill and died, very suddenly, and I was the First. My niece became the new Second and she is only seven now.”

“Being in a position of responsibility and of power is not so terrible, da’len,” Solas remarked.

“No, it’s not, but I never thought I would have to be the one to take it.” She turned back toward him and lifted her eyes once more. “If we succeed, which we must, I will never be able to return to the life I knew and that is ... disconcerting.”

While he knew that she could not know how closely she was echoing a sentiment he had felt so long ago, he had the deepest empathy for the woman. She was still young, still unsure of herself and what she wanted from this world. He wondered at her age suddenly, for he had never learned it and no one seemed to know. Sometimes, when she smiled or laughed she appeared to be just on the cusp of life, but when she was worried or concentrating as she was now, she looked more mature like a woman who had already seen too much.

“I suppose I just need to hope the world will be better for my efforts and that I don’t make a complete fool of myself,” Lavellan said with a smile.

Not wanting to continue on this line of thought considering how she seemed to be resonating his thoughts long ago in what felt like another world, he changed the subject. “So,” Solas began, “You saw the possible end of the world and you have earned the ire of many for your alliance with the mages. You are a Dalish mage in the midst of an ever-growing human organization devoted to the Chantry that despises magic. Enlighten me, da’len: do you have any good news to report?”

Taking a moment to reflect, Lavellan pinched her chin and then smirked. “Well, I did see a dog today.” Solas chuckled at her and he was rewarded with Lavellan’s bashful grin. “Apparently we are adding Mabaris to our ever growing army,” she explained. “I like them, but now I know why they say Ferelden always stinks of dog.”

“The smell never quite washes out, that is true. I wonder how the humans ignore it; perhaps they like it," Solas remarked with a smirk of his own. "But I’ve distracted you long enough from your Inquisition duties, I'm sure you have more appeasing to do,” Solas said, drawing away from her.

“You may distract me anytime you wish,” Lavellan corrected him. She smiled and looked up at him, her eyes slightly veiled behind her long lashes. “I enjoy speaking to you.”

He did not know why, but Solas could not find the words to reply to her statement. He watched her walk away, a pleased but tired smile upon her lips, but his mind clouded with worry. His heart should not be beating faster, nor should his eyes desire to look only upon her. The Inquisition would close the Breach and he would leave once the orb was his once more, never to see the woman again. It would be best for everyone if he did not entertain any inconvenient thoughts of her, though his body told him differently. He steeled himself not to be carried away with sentiment, though it hurt his heart to do so - it had been too long since someone looked upon him with favor and he was beginning to consider her a friend.


	5. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-DUNNNNNNN! Haven is attacked by what's-his-name! Oh noes!

# In Your Heart Shall Burn

The march to the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes was familiar to Arasinya, but instead of only Cassandra, Solas, and Varric, she was accompanied by hundreds of mages and hundreds more Inquisition soldiers. The climb was much easier, as the paths and bridges broken during the explosion had been repaired by the Inquisition, but the sight of the destroyed Temple was still difficult for many of the soldiers to bear. Arasinya did her best to encourage them and kept her head held high as they approached the Breach. At the peak of the mountain underneath the swirling Breach, Solas guided the mages into action, directing their energy into the Breach so that Arasinya could close it with her mark once enough energy had been generated.

So much energy poured into the Breach and Arasinya struggled through the power of the Fade that had been brought into the world, but the mark did its work and closed the Breach, leaving nary a mark in the sky. They were left in awe at what they had accomplished. A collective sigh and then a whoop of joy echoed through the mages and Inquisition soldiers as the hole in the sky disappeared and Arasinya found herself surrounded by those who wished only to bask in her glory and power, congratulating her for saving the world.

For the moment, she allowed herself to be washed away with the praise and adoration. She might be a Dalish Elven mage among Shemlens, but they were all proud of what they had accomplished together and she was overjoyed that the Breach had been closed and the dark future she had seen would not come to pass. They carried her on their shoulders as they returned to Haven and casks of beer were opened as soon as they arrived. Music started and dancing followed and for a moment everything was perfect.

Then the warning bells rang and a strange blonde boy arrived at the gates heralding the arrival of the red Templars that covered the mountainside like ants, so vast were their numbers. Panic ensued and the civilians were brought to the Chantry while the soldiers prepared to defend a fort not meant to withhold an attack of this magnitude. Cullen and Arasinya spoke to the boy called Cole and learned that the Templars had sided with The Elder One after the Inquisition had taken away their mages.

“He’s very angry that you stole his mages,” Cole explained when they glimpsed the Elder One, a tall darkspawn, a variety of which they had never seen before. Varric, however, cringed with surprise and recognition at the darkspawn though he did not explain his reaction.

“Cullen, we need a plan of attack, anything,” Arasinya implored.

They would use the trebuchets to hit the forces and possibly bring down some snow upon the oncoming Templars to bury them. After they had determined their plan of action, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas accompanied Arasinya with a force of Inquisition forces to defend the trebuchets so that they could strike at the Templars.

The red Templars were a terrible force to behold. As they lashed out and took the soldiers down, Cassandra tried to reason with the Templars, telling them that there was no need to attack them like this, but they pressed on, forcing the Inquisition to exterminate them. Although her magic was not as effective against the red Templars as a sword, the red lyrium had corrupted their magic-canceling skills and she was able to attack them without having her magic turned against her.

“I don’t understand, what is that red mineral coming out of them?” Cassandra yelled over the din of the battle.

“It’s red lyrium!” Arasinya and Varric answered in unison. Arasinya continued, “I saw it in the vision of the future. It infects the body when exposed to flesh.”

“It’s horrible!” Cassandra replied, stricken for her former comrades.

The second trebuchet fired and for a moment it seemed as though they had done enough to slow down the bulk of the Templar’s forces as the projectile had struck the mountainside and the resulting miniature avalanche had buried many Templars under the snow. Then the mountain shook with a terrible roar and a great shadow passed overhead and the trebuchet they had just fired was consumed by fire. The blast knocked Arasinya and the others down as pieces of broken metal and wood rained down upon them. 

As Arasinya and her comrades gained their feet she heard Solas mutter, “That is not possible.”

“Retreat! Fall back!” The command was given by Cullen and echoed throughout Haven. They all retreated to the Chantry, cutting down Templars as they went, but for every Templar there was another Inquisition soldier that fell. For all her skill, Arasinya could not protect everyone.

Inside the Chantry, the doors closed to the battle, Arasinya felt awash with complete and utter defeat. Her knees were weak and she struggled to stay standing as Cole sat Chancellor Roderick down. The boy said that Roderick would die, for he had tried to stop a Templar and had been stabbed. Arasinya could not help but pity the broken man though he had hounded her for being a blasphemer since the day she had woken in the Chantry prison months before.

“The dragon lost us any time you may have gained us, Herald,” Cullen stated.

“I have seen an Archdemon in the Fade before,” the strange boy, Cole, remarked. The group turned to look at him in surprise and he seemed startled by the attention put upon him. “And it looked like that,” Cole added hesitantly.

“An Archdemon?” Arasinya marveled.

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen retorted. “It’s going to destroy Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village," Cole explained. "He only wants the Herald.”

First, silence. Then an immediate outbreak of protests against sending the Herald to meet the Elder One to stop the attack on the village. Arasinya stood in silence between all of them. She was splattered with her allies' blood and she looked at her hands as her life was defended, when she had already decided that she would confront this Elder One if it would help the others. The Breach had been closed – her part in all this was over. If she could defeat the Elder One at the cost of her own life, she would not hesitate to do whatever necessary. Like Solas, Cassandra, and Leliana in the dark future, she would sacrifice everything to protect the future. She had her clan to consider as well as the rest of her kind to protect - it would be enough.

Chancellor Roderick spoke of a path that he only knew due to a pilgrimage he had taken to the Temple of Sacred Ashes years before. He stated it must have been Andraste that had shown him the path, for otherwise he would never have known of it. The knowledge of the path did seem to be divine providence and they debated how they could escape unseen by the Elder One’s forces as they evacuated Haven.

They argued and went back and forth between possibilities but there was no time.

“There is another trebuchet, yes?” Arasinya shouted over the din.

“Yes, inside the gates,” Cullen answered, the room now silent.

“What if we use it to bury the mountain while the others escape using Chancellor Roderick’s path?”

“Are you suggesting that _you_ use the trebuchet, Herald?” Cassandra asked quietly.

Arasinya looked at the woman who had once been her jailer, but who was now something close to a friend and nodded. “It will draw the Elder One’s attention away from the retreat if I go out to face him. It will give everyone a chance to escape to safety.”

“You should not do this,” Solas reprimanded and she was surprised to see the anger in his eyes directed at her. “He will kill you. There is little chance of escape.”

“I know that," she replied softly. She regretted that Solas was angry with her, but she knew what needed to be done. "But it’s my choice.” She turned to the group that had gathered around her. “If you wish to come with me, you may, but at the first sign of this Elder One, you will fall back to the Chantry to protect those escaping, is that understood?”

“I will go with you, Herald,” Cassandra volunteered. The armor-clad woman placed her hand on Arasinya’s shoulder which caused her knees to buckle under the weight. Arasinya forced herself to smile at Cassandra and when she looked back at the group in the Chantry, both Varric and Solas had joined her side.

“We started this shit together, we can end it together,” Varric smirked. Then he shook his head and muttered, “Though this is some seriously messed up shit.”

Solas said nothing, only gravely inclined his head at her when she caught his eyes.

The group, along with some other soldiers left the Chantry and returned to the battlefield. Haven was all but a fiery husk of its former state and there were many bodies littering the ground on the way to the trebuchet, both Templar and Inquisition alike. They encountered few living Templars until they reached the trebuchet inside the gates. As soon as they attempted to turn and arm the trebuchet, Arasinya and her allies were bombarded by waves of Templars climbing the fence. Between the waves Arasinya aimed the trebuchet at a particularly heavy sheet of snow in the distance that would bury the whole mountain under snow, praying to nothing in particular that this scheme would work.

“Aim the trebuchet, Herald! Do it now!” Cassandra yelled as she cut down an abomination that used to the Knight Commander.

The crank was hard for her to turn, as Arasinya’s hands were cold from exposure and she did not have the musculature required for such a task, but with her magic enhancing her strength like fire in her veins she was able to turn the crank until it would go no further. Weapon ready, Arasinya searched the skies for the Archdemon and the Elder One. Theirs was one of the few Inquisition groups still outside the Chantry and so their presence could not go unnoticed for long. 

She was correct in her assumption for the Archdemon flew overhead, its strange fire razing Haven and its powerful wings knocking everyone around her to the ground. As she scrambled to her feet she gave the order to run and fall back without her. They did as she ordered and she watched Cassandra, Varric, and Solas' retreating backs with satisfaction before turning to face the Elder One, alone.

 

* * *

 

Lavellan had closed the Breach with the mark that was supposed to be his. 

As they descended the mountain back to Haven, Solas would turn around and look up in disbelief to see the scarred sky no longer ripped asunder and then his eyes would rest on Lavellan being carried by the crowd, her face beaming with a smile. An Elf had become the hero of the Inquisition.

Lavellan was performing impossible tasks considering the state of modern Elves. The mark should have killed her but instead it had brought salvation.

Up until the Breach was closed, Solas worried that it could not be done. Lavellan had physically been inside the Fade when the Temple had exploded, but the Breach in the sky was something new, something that had never occurred before. Outside of his realm of knowledge, he had doubted that it could be closed. But the mages had poured their magic into the Breach and then Lavellan had lifted her hand and the world had moved from her power.

Everyone was looking at the wonders she had achieved and saw what they wanted to see in their Herald of Andraste, turning her into a messenger from their god and savior, but he believed that only he truly saw her for what she was up until she ordered them to retreat.

As he, Varric, and Cassandra left Lavellan to face certain death, Solas looked back once to see the darkspawn known as the Elder One approach her with the Archdemon by his side. With guilt he took in the scene as the lithe Elf stood up to confront the monster, her shoulders set in determination. He did not see what happened during the confrontation for they reached the Chantry in little time and they were ushered inside.

The retreat was messy and he worried that Lavellan’s sacrifice would be wasted if they took too long, but the Inquisition’s forces were remarkably efficient getting the injured out of the Chantry and through the path in the mountain. The path itself, were it not filled with thousands of soldiers and mages, would have been a beautiful sight to behold for its walls dripped with green ice and was crusted with frost. To see it in a time of peace would have been worthy of a pilgrimage but for now he ran through it with the other able-bodied soldiers and companions, trying to reach the outside as quickly as possible to see what had become of Lavellan.

The trail ended in a cave high up in the mountains and Haven was once more visible far below the Inquisition’s location. They saw as the Herald, tiny in comparison with everything else, was thrown against the trebuchet by the darkspawn. The Archdemon stood by, looming over the scene. Lavellan did not move for several long moments, but when she rose, she had a sword in her hand and the trebuchet fired as she cut its rope. The boulder launched into the air and arched over the battlefield and crashed into the mountain. With a rumble, the snow on the mountain shook and spilled over, drowning the land with snow below them. The Archdemon and darkspawn fled the scene but there was no sign of Lavellan as the snow fell onto Haven and crushed it under a deceptively serene blanket of snow.

Silence descended as the snow settled into the valley. No lights from the Templars remained and Haven had disappeared completely.

“She did it,” Cassandra whispered. The woman lowered her head and Solas saw that the woman was attempting to reign in her sadness. With surprise he saw the expression echoed in those around him; even those that had argued with the Herald in the past now mourned her loss. All her sins and her very nature had been forgotten once they had seen her close the Breach.

“We’ll send out a search party once we have found someplace safe,” Leliana promised the other advisors and the people gathered around them, waiting for directions. “But we cannot waste the time she has given us.”

With those words the group moved forward. There was little noise across the empty mountains and so they assumed that the Templars had been subdued, or at least delayed. The people had to hope this was the case for they were completely exposed and slowed down by the injured. If there was to be an attack there would be no escape for any of them.

After an hour of hard marching through the snow, the Inquisition stopped to rest in the shelter of sheer cliff that blocked off most of the snow and wind as a blizzard gathered around them. Many of the mages went to work healing the injured and building large fires to warm the area while the Inquisition soldiers gathered together to mourn their fallen comrades and support those that were dying.

Solas broke away from the group once the others were settled and sought a quiet place sheltered from the coming blizzard so that he could see what had happened at Haven by looking into the Fade. The memories there were still new, but the shock of the events may have left an imprint on the area and he could use that knowledge to determine Lavellan’s whereabouts. He did not want to consider the option that the only information he might find would be the location of her body, but it was the most likely outcome.

After the battle and subsequent escape, Solas’ exhausted body had no trouble slipping into sleep. The Fade opened up to him, a mirrored green plane of the mountains around him. Where the Inquisition now rested, a hum of life permeated through the emptiness and the Fade was drawn upon by the mages pulling their magic. Lavellan, most likely in the worst of the storm or buried in snow, would be drawing on the Fade as well to keep herself warm if she were not dead.

The mountains were quiet in the Fade. Although the Breach had closed, no spirits had returned to the area and so Solas had no help or guides in searching for Lavellan. He did not call out to her, in case he attracted unfriendly spirits lurking beyond his perception, but he tuned his magic with the Fade in order to pick up on the tiniest fluctuations in its fabric. He heard the wolves howling across the Veil and bid them to leave Lavellan be should they find her first. Their howls subsided and he trekked across the emptiness alone.

It was far too quiet.

He found where Haven used to be and he stood where the trebuchet that Lavellan had fired once stood. There were echoes here of an angry, ancient power and Solas buried the guilt that immediately rose up in his throat. He had seen the orb in the ancient Magister's hand and he knew what had happened. He would simply have to live with his mistake and correct it. 

There was nothing here: only the dead and the memory of pain lingered.

He wondered how long it would take him to recover from Lavellan’s death; she was possibly the only person he had met so far since his long slumber that reminded him even remotely of his time. She had shined where all others were dull and pale. 

The Fade snow glowed with the soft light the permeated the plane. It stretched on endlessly. In the nothingness Solas glimpsed a shimmer of a spirit.

He rushed toward its source, his innate Elven grace keeping him upright as he flew over the hills. As he drew closer to the source of the shimmer he caught glimpses of a different figure reaching through the fabric of the Fade to create flames that illuminated the shape of someone not in this plane. The figure had emerged from a tunnel or mine under Haven and its footprints marked its progress through the snow.

The figure’s steps were slow and labored and her body shook despite the flames she held in her hand, but it was Lavellan, alive in the physical world. Her heavy footfalls were taking her closer to the camp the Inquisition had made, but the lights of the camp were a mere pinprick on the horizon.

A silent spirit of determination walked beside Lavellan, a hand on her shoulder. The spirit was bright to behold and dressed in long robes. It may have been a trick of the light but Solas believed the spirit looked elven.

“Spirit?” Solas tried to gain the spirit’s attention but it did not acknowledge him. “Spirit? Why are you with this woman?”

Both the spirit’s and Lavellan’s eyes were locked on the place in the mountains and he felt both her and the spirit’s determination for her to reach that point. Lavellan’s hair had come undone from its usually intricate braid that rested over her shoulder. Her long strands of hair now flapped behind her in the wind, leaving a trail of black that paralleled the spirit’s trail of white.

He marveled that Lavellan had a spirit guardian just as much as he marveled that she had escaped death once more. But he stopped himself, for the elements may still finish her off, spirit or no. He must act to save her.

With some effort, Solas drew himself out of the Fade and awoke in the physical world. He knew approximately where Lavellan was and he stood up to rejoin the camp and inform the spymaster after brushing off the snow that had accumulated upon him.

The advisors, as well as Cassandra, were standing around a makeshift table with a map of the area spread out upon it. Their raised voices halted as soon as Solas approached and they looked up at him curiously.

“The Herald is alive,” he stated. He was met with disbelief and some hope, all evident except in the face of Leliana. He continued before they could question him, “I searched for her in the Fade. She is drawing magic to herself to keep warm, though we need to find her soon before the cold kills her.”

“Where is she?” Leliana asked.

“She comes this way from the west.” Solas pointed in the correct direction. “I believe she had fallen into a tunnel or mine of some sort when the avalanche fell. She has since left the cave and is now approaching the camp.”

“You are sure she is alive?” Cullen asked, disbelieving.

“As I said, I felt her pulling magic from the Fade,” Solas replied patiently. He wished they would start gathering a party instead of questioning him. “She could not do so if she were dead.”

“Then we’ll send our scouts in that direction, as well as the search party,” Leliana responded as she looked back at the map and pointed to the area where Lavellan may be. “The Chargers have already volunteered to look for the Herald as well as Warden Blackwall and Varric. Solas, you have already done us a great service but would you go with them? She may need healing and we don’t have any mages to spare here.”

“I will,” Solas agreed. He turned to join the group that had already gathered to look for Lavellan on the edge of camp. Varric smirked wearily at Solas as he approached, one hand absently stroking Bianca, while the others ignored him as they prepared their gear for traveling in the snow. They packed blankets and linen for if they found Lavellan.

“I thought she’d be deep in shit for the alliance with the mages, some slaps on the wrist and some lessons about morality concerning magic. But an Archdemon and an ancient darkspawn,” Varric muttered when Solas was within earshot. “I swear, the weirdest shit happens to her.”

“You know of the darkspawn?” Solas asked.

“Yeah, long story. I’ll explain after we find the Herald,” Varric said before sighing. “We better find her.”


	6. Do Not Falter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan's lost in the snow and Krem's there too, maybe? Who knows. Here's my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bythederpwolf

# Do Not Falter

Arasinya’s body burned as it froze. How could her fingers feel like fire when they were so cold, so pale? She let the flames of her magic spill over her exposed skin, walking the delicate line of warming but not burning.

When she first woke up under the mountain, she had assumed she was dead. The pain from her mark as Corypheus tried to remove it with the black orb had been worse than when the Breach was still unstable and expanding when she first woke up in Haven as a prisoner. Corypheus’ attempt had felt like he was pulling at a string of her soul and was trying to unravel her, but the mark was permanent and had held despite his tugging.

She supposed she was lucky that the mark could not be removed, or else he would have killed her instead of becoming irritated with her. His frustration had given her the chance to fire the trebuchet and bury the rest of his forces under the mountain. Still, as she had begun to stir after her fall, she regretted that she had not been killed. Everything hurt and her magic was a strain as her connection to the Fade was weakened by her injuries and by Corypheus’s attempt to remove the mark.

For a long time she laid with her head against the cold ground and wondered what would happen if she died. The Breach had been closed and her role had been fulfilled, if she died now at least she knew she had at least fulfilled that mission. She stared up at the ice ceiling of the cave she was in and wondered what it looked like above her. Even if she left, would she be able to find the Inquisition before she froze or collapsed from exhaustion?

But defeat was not in her nature. When she had been beaten almost to death by the Shemlen as a child because of her magic, she had not given up on her life. Her magic had trickled into her injuries, mended the bones, stitched the skin, and closed the internal wounds without conscious thought. She had survived then by force of will and she would survive now.

Getting to her feet was tortuous. Her magic was attempting to heal her bruises, cuts, and the arm she had landed on, which had broken in the fall, but she kept the magic at bay. She did not know how far she would have to go in this snow and she would need all the strength she could muster. On trembling feet she stood, swaying. Her breath came out in labored puffs of clouds and the chill burned in her lungs and larynx. But she would move forward, she was compelled to do so.

Her hair fell in black tendrils around her face as she began to move. Her hair had been braided and pinned before they had closed the Breach, but the battle and fall had lost her several pins. With her good arm and hand she pulled out the rest of the pins that held the braid in place and let her hair fall down her back in messy waves. It would serve as an extra barrier against the cold.

As soon as she left the cave she wished to go back inside, for the wind was worse than the cold. It found every opening in her too-thin armor and permeated through everything, sucking the heat from her skin and snapping her hair about her. At the entrance of the cave she thought she would fall to her death from the cold, but her eyes found a source of light far up the mountainside. From the cave it looked like the smallest of fires, but Arasinya knew it was the Inquisition, safe and together. Her chest lightened with joy and she smiled before her countenance hardened into one of sheer determination. She would reach the Inquisition. She would tell them of Corypheus. And then they would rebuild to avenge their fallen.

She kept her broken arm by her side as flames licked her fingers and the howling of wolves filled her ears. She climbed the mountain to her salvation.

 

* * *

 

“The Boss is pretty resourceful, from what I’ve seen,” Iron Bull ruminated as he and the ragtag group scoured the mountainside to the west to find Lavellan. Despite the cold, Iron Bull did not wear a coat or jacket on his person, though Krem had mocked him enough to put some warmer armor on so that his 'tits' would not freeze. Iron Bull had reluctantly put the armor on, but let Krem know that his 'tits were his own business, thank-you-very-much, Krem-de-la-Crème.'

Varric, Solas, and Blackwall traveled along with the Chargers. The three men were silent and so Iron Bull had been talking to fill in the empty silence.

“She’ll be fine,” Iron Bull continued. “So stop frowning, you three.”

“The Lady is indeed a strong woman,” Blackwall acknowledged, speaking for the first time that evening. “But she could be injured and unable to move. This cold could kill the strongest of us, given the right condition.”

“That’s negative thinking,” Iron Bull chided. “The woman’s a mage. She’s probably set herself on fire to keep warm.”

“The problem with that is that at that point she would be on fire, Tiny,” Varric corrected. “And then she’d definitely be dead.”

“If used carefully, flames can be used to warm and not to burn,” Solas pointed out to the group. “When I saw the Herald in the Fade, I believe she was drawing small amounts of fire to her to keep herself warm.”

“That’s not as exciting as setting yourself on fire,” Iron Bull retorted.

“No, but it is slightly more practical,” Solas ruefully smirked.

The night was dark considering there was nothing around them for miles to give off light, but once the storm stopped they were able to see more clearly and the wind did not make their trek so miserable. The small party had been searching for near three hours when Krem said that he had seen a light at the bottom of the snow dune they had been climbing.

In her trek up the mountain, the wind had moved Lavellan slightly more south than they had anticipated. As they crested the hill and she saw the search party, she smiled, took one more step, and fell to her knees to collapse face-first in the snow.

Solas slid down the snow dune and was the first to reach her. As the others approached his magic sought out any injuries or frostbite. Her arm was broken, though not badly, and her fingers and toes were alarmingly cold but none had lost circulation yet. The rest of the group arrived and they readied the supplies that they had brought with them.

“We need to set her arm and warm her hands and feet before we take her back to the camp,” Solas said as he rolled Lavellan with utmost care onto a blanket that had been laid out for her. Her long black hair was everywhere and he had to brush the frozen strands out of the way so that they did not pull as she moved.

Quietly, Solas asked, “Can you sit up while I set your arm?”

Her ice-crusted eyelashes blinked rapidly at him as she tried to understand the question, but after a moment she nodded and with some gentle encouragement from Varric she sat up on the blanket though she swayed. As Solas’ magic mended the arm, he tied it against her body so that it would not shift on the trip back up to the camp.

“Can you move your toes and fingers, lethallan?”

She smiled as though she knew a joke that he did not hear, but held up her one free hand and slowly moved the fingers back and forth, touching each finger to her thumb. Iron Bull remarked that her fingering looked good and with a tired grin she shot Iron Bull the bird and the Qunari shook with laughter.

"This one seems to work," Lavellan croaked as she lowered her middle finger.

Solas took her hand in his own and let heat and flames slip forth to warm up her digits. After receiving a thick bundle of cloth from Varric, he wrapped the hand to protect it. After warming and wrapping up her other hand and feet, Iron Bull very gently lifted Lavellan into his arms like a bride.

“I feel like a prince who just rescued the damsel in distress, only I think the boss would kill me if I started kissing her,” Iron Bull joked as Lavellan weakly mock-gagged. He insisted she weighed next to nothing so he carried her the whole way, with Solas hovering about to keep an eye on her limbs. As soon as they started traveling back to the camp, Lavellan fell asleep and did not stir even as the Chargers yelled their return to the whole of the Inquisition. The people in the camp collectively sighed in relief at her return.

By the time they laid her on a stretcher, her broken arm had been completely mended with Solas’ magic so he removed the cloth around her arm and body. She was close to a fire but he continued to warm her hands and feet with his magic until he was satisfied they were no longer in danger of frostbite and the color had returned to her cheeks.

The matter of Lavellan’s ears, however, was another issue. His magic told him that they were also cold and in need of attention but elves simply did not have their ears touched except by family and lovers. Uncomfortable, but saddled with the knowledge that her ears could be damaged if not warmed, Solas gently laid his hands against her ears and warmed them with a slow ebb of magic.

She twitched in her sleep when his skin contacted with hers and Solas did his best not to focus on the situation he found himself in. He was directly above her and in the low light he could not see her Vallaslin. He wondered what she would say if he told her the truth of the marks. He hoped she could accept the truth, even if it was difficult to admit and directly against what she had been told her whole life. But he believed she would if she trusted him enough, for she was not a normal woman.

This woman had accepted mages as allies. She never made snap judgments or denied help to those in need. She knew that the Dalish could not be correct in all matters but she was proud of her heritage. She was curious and insightful, strong and compassionate, clever and humble. She was real in a world that he did not know or understand and when he had believed her dead, he felt as though something important had been lost.

He abruptly removed his hands from her ears as his heart pounded in his chest.

Mother Giselle took his place when he left Lavellan’s side. When Lavellan woke some hours later due to the others' yelling, Mother Giselle had her sit up and she bade her eat while the elder woman gently brushed and braided Lavellan’s wild hair. They spoke in low voices and Solas could not hear their words, though Lavellan’s sad expression explained the sentiment of their conversation. A small part of him whispered that she would be better comforted by someone of her own kind, someone who she spoke to often rather than a human who had false beliefs about her.

He watched as Lavellan rose from her stretcher after muttering something to the Mother Giselle and walked away from her but she froze in place as Mother Giselle began to sing. The song was Andrastian and as she sang it the camp slowly joined her until the whole Inquisition was singing a chant with Lavellan in the middle, staring like an animal caught in a hunter’s sights. They sang for hope and for a better tomorrow and they sang for her, the new figurehead of the Inquisition, a hero for them all.

And remembering what Lavellan had said only days before that she had never wanted to be important or noticed, Solas grieved for her loss. Now that she had closed the Breach and thwarted Corypheus, Lavellan would never go unnoticed again. But perhaps, his original plan having failed, she could now be more than just the Herald of Andraste. With the vigor she inspired, she and the Inquistion could fix this world that had been broken and he could regain his orb. 

As soon as the singing ceased and the people began to resume what they had been doing before, Solas approached Lavellan. She was testing her finger’s movements and frowning at the ground in thought. Her hands hovered over her ears and she prodded the tips gently. When he was close, she looked up and caught his eyes, though she had no smile for him.

“A word?” He asked.

She followed him in silence, her expression still grave. He led her a little way from the camp to an empty sconce that once marked a path through the mountains that he lit with veilfire. Her face, across the fire, was tired and marked by tiny scratches and bruises.

“How do you feel?” Solas asked, his voice soft so as not to carry to any prying ears.

“Physically? Better,” Lavellan replied, her voice slightly empty of emotion. “Thank you for taking care of me, again.”

“You saved us all when you faced Corypheus,” Solas responded, guilt lacing its way through his mind. He had caused her pain. “It was nothing.”

When she did not reply, he continued with what he originally intended to tell her. “The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Their faith is hard-won, lethallan, worthy of pride … save for one detail. The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours.”

That piece of information seemed to snap Lavellan out of her despondency. “The orb is of Elven origin?”

“Yes. He used it to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave.” He fixed his gaze on hers and he was pleased to see that her eyes were narrowed in concern instead of listlessness. “We must find out how he survived and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people.”

“It always comes back to blaming the elves, somehow,” Lavellan remarked, her indignation coloring her voice. “But what is the orb? And how do you know of it?”

Solas knew that once he had told her of the orb she would question what it was and he had considered lying to her to better cover his tracks. But he did not want to lie to her for she had always been honest with him, but she could not know the whole truth. Instead, he had prepared to answer her questions so that she would know some of the truth but not its entirety. “Such orbs were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remain are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb _is_ elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

“A focus to channel a god’s power? And it can open the Fade? How extraordinary,” Lavellan mused. She shook off her wonderment. “But you are right, we must make use of the optimism that they have in me now before this knowledge is made public.”

Solas was proud of her intellect. She already understood what he meant without needed to say the words. “Then we need room for this faith to grow.”

“We’ve lost Haven. We cannot rebuild.”

“There is a place north of here, an ancient fortress that would make a suitable home for the Inquisition. I believe that is where it will thrive,” Solas revealed.

Her eyes sought out the mountains far beyond and for a moment she was lost in her thoughts. The veilfire gave her face a sharp appearance and once again he could see that under the Vallaslin and smiles that Lavellan was a woman who had experienced her own downfalls and tribulations. She was not as lost and naive as he had previously considered her. She wearily rubbed her neck before returning to face Solas. “And will you guide us?”

“I shall guide you, and you them,” Solas replied. He took a step forward and gently remarked, “But for now, lethallan, I think you should go back to the camp and rest. You have defied death enough today, I think.”

Lavellan chuckled quietly. “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard in quite some time.” She began to turn to go back down the hill they had climbed but she turned around and her eyes were alive with the veilfire’s light. “Thank you, again, for everything, lethallin.”

He extinguished the veilfire with his magic and watched as Lavellan rejoined the camp, only to be fussed over by her companions and advisors. They congratulated her and she thanked them for finding her and for believing in her. She even remembered to thank the boy Cole, who had been forgotten as well as Chancellor Roderick, now deceased. Though she doubted herself, she would be an excellent leader for the Inquisition and Solas was eager to see where she would lead it. He lamented that he could not leave the Inquisition for now; without the orb he was tied to the Inquisition and its success so that he may carry out his plans. 


	7. From the Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisition and Friends have arrived at Skyhold and there's a drunken night of fun at the tavern because Arasinya is a lush (not really).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2/22/15 -- sorry about the slow updates. I haven't been working on the fanfic as much due to inclement weather and lack of time at work (that's horrible, I know, but I hate my job). I'm finishing my canon playthrough right now and hopefully it'll get me inspired to keep writing. I have several chapters already finished so there's enough for two months worth of updates at the very least. I appreciate all the views / kudos / comments. Whenever I see them it inspires me to keep writing. So thank you!

# From the Ashes

Skyhold, the Inquisition’s new home had been located and Arasinya had been named Inquisitor, the leader of the entire organization. As she held a very heavy sword aloft that threatened to tip her over, she vowed to the Inquisition that she would lead as an example for all mages and to defend the people of Thedas, and was charged with restoring order to the world.

While her new role was intimidating and her attention was being drawn in many different directions, Arasinya often found the restoration of Skyhold an amazing diversion from her new duties. Every day she spent exploring the fortress she made more discoveries and found hidden places until she was finally convinced that it held no further secrets that she could find without major reconstruction. And Skyhold needed a great deal of reconstruction. In passing she had asked Josephine where they were finding the money to fund the construction but the Antivan had simply laughed and told Arasinya that now that she had sealed the Breach, donations and alliances coming in from all over Ferelden and Orlais. She questioned what sane person would donate to a rogue Andrastian organization lead by a heretical Dalish Elven mage with an army of mages in its ranks but Josephine had laughed again and explained that Arasinya's humble and strange origins were no longer an issue, for many believed her to be chosen by Andraste herself.

Against her wishes, the first room to be completely restored was her own in the spacious tower of the main building. The luxury of the room that was given to her was overwhelming considering she had grown up sleeping in broken down Aravhals, but as she spent more time in it, she grew to love having her own place in the world even if it were not in the trees. Sometimes she missed the open skies of the Aravhals, but from her balconies and rooftop she had a perfect view of the mountains and the sun’s path throughout the day. And at night the skies were lit for miles with pinpricks of starlight, brighter than she had ever seen due to their elevation. She decided she would cope with having her own room.

She made sure that her companions were comfortable in their new residences and, by popular request, had the tavern opened as soon as possible for the Inquisition’s use. She visited often with others, getting to know them better and carrying out tasks for them. For Varric she destroyed red lyrium, for Blackwall she found Grey Warden artifacts, and she was helping Cassandra hunt down rogue Templars and mages. She recruited even more agents to their cause and even found a dwarven archanist, who made runes and marveled at Arasinya’s mark and babbled on and on about how it was a key.

For all that she tried not to be weighed down by the responsibility of being Inquisitor, she did her best to use her power for good. She imagined more than a few Dalish would likely question her motives to lead the Inquisition considering its association with the Chantry. She was by no means trying to spread the word of her people's pantheon using the Inquisition, but was instead using it as a means to rally those who wanted to restore order. If the Shemlens fell to this Corypheus, her people would suffer even as they rejoiced. It was trying to be the face of such a large group and to have people’s hopes resting on her shoulders, but she would have to endure.

The most pressing issues at hand were preventing Corypheus from raising his demon army and assassinating Empress Celene, two events that she and Dorian had learned of in the dark future that had lead to the fall of Orlais and then all of Thedas. Her advisors were rapidly coming up with solutions to the issue but ultimately it would be her job as the Inquisitor to make the important decisions regarding thwarting Corypheus. Solas suggested that should they defeat Corypheus, they should try to recover the focus that he had used to open the Breach so that they may study it more thoroughly and prevent the Breach from reoccurring. She concurred, though she wondered what an ancient Elven artifact that had been used by the Creators could do for them other than destroy.

In the meantime, she continued her work to spread the Inquisition’s influence by helping others and by exploring new lands. When she first visited the Emerald Graves she felt pinpricks of tears at its beauty as she wandered through the ancient trees that marked the resting places of her people. Never before had she been in such an untouched land where her people’s history was all around her and where the land was so marked by age. Climbing the trees here was an absolute pleasure and she disappeared into them so much that Sera had begun to call her “Inquisi-squirrel.”

She dropped down from the tree and faced Iron Bull, Sera, and Cassandra. “Well this Inquisi-squirrel just saw a dragon,” she grinned as she saw Iron Bull and Sera’s mouths open in surprise. “Who wants to go kill it?”

“MEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” Iron Bull bellowed, throwing his arms up in the air. His enthusiasm was infectious for Sera also yipped in joy and even Cassandra smiled at the challenge.

After a fierce battle that had left everyone but Cassandra rolling on the ground in pain, they returned to Skyhold with a dragon skull and the spoils of their victory and there was a huge celebration. Back in the tavern, Iron Bull invited Arasinya to drink his terrible Qunari liquor and by the end of the night she, as well as many others, were laughing uncontrollably from the drink.

“Okay okay okay,” Arasinya slurred. “But really, Bull, you said you were going _pleasure_ yourself later when you killed the dragon? Was that what you said? To make the dragon feel better about _dying_? Because that’s morbidly kinky.”

Iron Bull roared with laughter and pounded his drink on the table several times causing other drinks to go flying off the table. “You fucking bet I did, boss. I wanted to that dragon to know that its legacy would live on, in me. Or I guess maybe out of me ... you get the gist.”

“Ewwww,” Sera moaned. “If you keep talking like that I’ll shoot your other eye out!”

“So, while all of you are inebriated, well while all of _us_ are inebriated, we should make bad decisions and gamble. Perhaps a card game? Wicked Grace, perhaps?” Dorian suggested with a twist of his moustache.

“Fine, but I don’t trust any of you to deal,” Blackwall grunted with a smirk.

“Cassandra should deal,” Sera suggested.

“No, I do not …” Cassandra began but paused, gathering her wits to talk. Arasinya assumed that the Seeker barely ever drank and that she was struggling to stay coherent. “I do not,” she finished simply.

“I’ll deal,” Varric suggested coolly. While he had kept up with the rest of them, he did not appear to be affected by the drink.

“The first time I met you, you told me it’s better to lie than to tell the truth,” Arasinya accused while waving her finger around. “We _definitely_ can’t trust you.”

“Why, Inquisitor, I’m offended,” Varric laughed. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you about as far as I can throw you,” Arasinya retorted with a grin. “Want to test how much I trust you?”

“Maybe our sexy Inquisi-squirrel can deal?” Sera suggested with a purr to Arasinya.

“Oooh, I like the ‘sexy’ part. Perhaps that should be my new title?”

“Hmm, maybe you’ll be the ‘Sexitor,’ instead?” Sera asked as she climbed on top of Arasinya’s chair. The chair toppled and both women fell to the ground, giggling uncontrollably.

Cassandra got to her feet, uneasy and tried to help Arasinya get up but Iron Bull held out a hand and said, “No, just let nature take its course. See where this goes.”

“Seconded,” Blackwall laughed.

“Ugh,” Dorian groaned.

Arasinya shoved Sera off her and stood up on wobbly feet to right her chair. She sat down and placed her hands on the table and looked at them all very seriously. Then she burst, “I don’t even know how to play the fucking game.” And snorted at her cursing and naivety.

“I don’t know how to play either,” Cole piped in. They had forgotten that Cole had been in the corner with them because he had not joined in the drinking and Sera promptly fell to the floor again in horror.

“Okay Cole,” Arasinya patted an empty space next to her. “We’ll learn together.”

Dorian and Cassandra attempted to teach them the correct rules for Wicked Grace while Iron Bull and Sera threw in ridiculous claims about having to fart on the cards for good luck or rub them on Varric’s chest hair to earn the dealer’s favor. While Cole seemed to have picked up the game naturally due to his preternatural sense of things and his sober state, Arasinya was terrible and since they were not playing for money until she and Cole had picked up on the nuances of the game, they pressured her into telling a secret since she had lost.

“I am an open book," Arasinya lied. "I don’t have any secrets so shut your mouths."

“But you lost, terribly, I might add,” Varric retorted. “You owe us something and I know you don't have any money.”

“You should admit something terribly embarrassing for you,” Dorian smirked with glee.

“Give us a story,” Varric chimed. “How about the craziest thing you’ve ever done while drinking?”

“Tell us about your first love,” Cassandra slurred, trying to keep her composure. “I have never heard a Dalish love story. I am sure they are terribly romantic and tragic.”

“Booooo! Tell us about the most terrible, horrible, wonderful sex you’ve ever had!” Sera exclaimed.

“Maybe something a bit less personal?” Blackwall suggested with a grimace. “Like how old she is?”

“We could talk about our feelings,” Cole wondered, to which everyone frowned and Sera blew a raspberry.

“Be kind, the boss lost hard, I think she should just give us some fodder for gossip. And the best gossip is about sex. Go on Boss, you could tell us if you have a lover or admit to who in the Inquisition you want to sleep with the most,” Iron Bull crooned with a waggling eyebrow.

“I can do that,” Arasinya proclaimed before anyone could make more suggestions. She took Cole’s hands and placed them on his ears and told him not to listen. “I can do that,” she repeated.

“Okay,” Arasinya said as she climbed onto her chair to stand. “Haha. Look I’m Krem.” Iron Bull doubled over in laughter. “Okay,” she repeated and she stared around the table. “The completely for-real, totally serious list of people I want to sleep with in the Inquisition is as follows, for real: Dorian’s mustache, if it were straight. Iron Bull, but it’s more of a morbid curiosity because I like the way my hips arranged the way they are and _not_ shattered, thank-you-very-much. Sera, because she knows how to treat a lady. Varric’s chest hair, cause damn. Cullen’s virginity I claim for the glory of the Dalish people. And Sol _ass_.”

Most of her words were hardly coherent due to her laughing and snorting, but the majority of her statement had been heard and the whole table was laughing with her. Sera had fallen out of her chair again and Cassandra had accidentally snorted on her drink and was sneezing.

“Inquisitor, I’m flattered, really,” Varric remarked. He rubbed his chest hair slightly, “But all this is taken.”

“So sad for the rest of women-kind. And I so wanted to have your hairy-chested babies,” Arasinya mock lamented. “So, I’ve embarrassed myself thoroughly. None of this ever leaves this room on pain of scary magical death. Next person to lose has to do a dare.”

They played a couple more rounds of Wicked Grace. Iron Bull was forced to do a headstand, which punctured the floor and Dorian later had to kiss Blackwall on the mouth, to both men’s disgust. As Arasinya began to sober up, her head began to ache terribly due to the fact that she had only begun drinking on a regular basis since coming to the Inquisition and she had no tolerance for alcohol. When she knew she had drank too much she excused herself sometime after midnight. Considering most of the party had passed out or were sobering up as well, she was allowed to leave after she promised to let them know if she did indeed claim Cullen’s virginity.

“Where is my room?” Arasinya muttered. She had taken a side door back into the main building as she did not want to wake anyone by opening the huge outer doors. She passed through several empty rooms in various states of repair wondering aloud just how big the place was until she found herself in a familiar circular room. She had not expected to see Solas, considering the hour and how much Solas liked to dream in the Fade instead of being present in the waking world, but he was seated upon some scaffolding and working on a mural. She vaguely remembered that one of her advisors had said he had been given permission to paint the room, but Arasinya had yet to see him start on it due to how busy she had been of late. It appeared as though he had finally begun earlier that day.

She stared in awe at what he had completed so far. Although she had some talents, she had never had a propensity for art of any kind, but Solas was far more talented than she could ever dream of being. His style was remarkably similar to the ancient Elven frescos she had seen scattered across the Emerald Graves and Exalted Plains. To see it on a wall in Skyhold was surreal.

In her slightly inebriated state she had not noticed that Solas was now watching her open-mouthed awe instead of his painting. He cleared his throat.

“Oh, _ir abelas_ ,” she sputtered and she felt her already red cheeks burn. “I just, I was at the tavern …”

“I see,” Solas smiled.

“And I didn’t want to use the big doors to get in because they’re _loud_ , and I’m just … wow. You did all this today?”

“I had planned this part of the mural out earlier this week, but yes, I started the plastering and painting this morning. It has to be done very quickly to set properly, you see, but I am finished now,” Solas replied. He put his paintbrushes down on a cloth and began to clean them with paint thinner, one by one. His hands were stained with paint there was a fleck of red on his cheek that he seemed to be unaware of. She thought it was adorable.

“Were you celebrating your defeat of the dragon?” Solas asked after he had finished cleaning the brushes. He began to climb down the scaffolding, skirting empty buckets of the plaster he had used earlier in the day.

“Yes,” Arasinya grinned, swaying on her feet as she looked up at the fresco. “Iron Bull was so proud of our kill and he insisted that we drink his Qunari swill. It tasted like shit. Excuse my language, sorry.”

Solas chuckled at her apology. “It does not bother me in the least.” He joined her to observe the mural, their elbows brushed as he took his place next to her. He looked tired, but she supposed it was from working on the fresco all day. 

“Is that the Conclave exploding?” She asked tentatively. 

“Yes. The color will darken as it dries so it will look different when it sets, but what do you think?”

“You made something terrible look very beautiful,” she admitted. “I’m amazed by the way you paint. I could never paint or draw though many of my brothers could. But your painting is much better, by far. And so different. It reminds me of the paintings we’ve seen on our travels.”

“I did intend to emulate the ancient fresco styles,” Solas confirmed. He looked at her, though her eyes were still mesmerized by the mural. “This is an art form lost to the Elven people and very difficult to replicate. It is my gift to the Inquisition. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she murmured. She looked at him and remembered what she had said earlier in the tavern and her cheeks flushed yet again - she hoped that he would not hear about that. She smiled awkwardly and looked away. “So, I know where I am and I think I can find my way back from here,” she declared as she slowly moved away from him. “Good talk. I mean, it was … you have paint right …” she pointed at his cheek and Solas lifted his hand to his face, pursing his lips as though trying not to laugh at her. He wiped the paint off with his thumb, lifted his eyes to hers, and smirked.

“Did I remove the offending paint, lethallan?” Solas asked quietly.

“Yes, g-good job,” Arasinya stuttered. Her mind was telling her to move but her feet were firmly planted. When his eyes crinkled in amusement at her she had to move, she had to remove herself from his presence. She had been drinking and she did not want to make a mistake with him, she respected him far too much. Though she had been joking when she had made her list in the tavern, she did indeed find Solas attractive and she enjoyed his company immensely. But if there was anything between them she wanted any initiation of romance to be perfect and she certainly did not want to start anything while she had a pounding headache.

“Thank you, I’ll just see myself out,” Arsinya turned on her heel to leave. As she moved she commented, “Good night, I’m sure you're eager to see what memories Skyhold has to offer.”

“It has many memories and secrets,” Solas replied and Arasinya was forced to turn around and face him as he was approaching her once more. She leaned against the door frame to steady herself and he mirrored her on the door’s side, his stance much lazier and easier than hers. “I have already discovered many of them.”

“Oh?” Arasinya was curious despite how much her mind was telling her to leave. “Like what?”

“I could show you how I see memories in the Fade, if you would like,” Solas offered.

“You could really do that?”

“Yes, I could.” He pondered the matter, his eyes roaming over her face, and continued after a few moments of silence, “However I would like if we spoke somewhere more interesting than this, perhaps after you have finished recovering from your celebrations.”

“That would be best,” Arasinya agreed with a laugh. “Good night, Solas.”

“Dareth shiral, lethallan,” Solas bid her farewell with a slight inclination of his head.

Before her body could betray her by stepping closer to him, she slipped out of the door and into the main hall to climb the stairs up to her room, finally aware of where she was. She slammed her door behind her and while her rapid heartbeat slowed, she could not stop grinning. 


	8. Know My Heart

# Know My Heart

From his mural room, Solas watched as Lavellan began her Knight-Enchanter training with Vivienne and one of the trainers that had been brought in for Lavellan’s magical advancement. She was taught how to create a sword out of spirit magic using a specially made hilt and after several attempts wherein she focused her magic into the hilt she was able to conjure a few sword-like wisps. He returned to planning his next fresco for a time and when he returned to watch her training she had created two swords and could hold them simultaneously, the blades glimmering in the sunlight. She was trying to pass them through a solid dummy. Sometimes the sword would cut through the straw but many times it would ghost through which would result in Lavellan cursing, reforming the sword, and trying again. The next time he left and returned she was holding a wooden sword and practicing basic sword techniques with Cassandra, but it was sunset and they did not get to train for long.

She disappeared for some time. He knew that she spent time with her other companions, particularly Cole, who often came to Solas to talk about whatever was crossing his mind or repeat the thoughts of others. Solas thoroughly enjoyed Cole's company for he was still very much a spirit of compassion and he could often tune into Solas' thoughts and understand him without having to speak. He could also trust Cole to keep his secrets. Cole had mentioned to Lavellan that he liked the music she sang in her head and would like to learn how to make the music real. When they had time, she taught him the lyre, fiddle, and the words to songs that she knew from her time traveling the villages of the Free Marshes. While watching Solas plan and plaster his frescos, Cole would recount the stories of the songwriters for he could feel the intentions behind the songs as he learned them. He did not like to sing because while he empathized with the songs, he still could not express them – it was something he was trying to learn.

Solas had never personally heard her sing, but Varric claimed she was good, if a little unconventional. The tavern bard, whom he had never seen since he did not go to the tavern to drink, sang traditional ballads but Lavellan performed common songs that a peasant might sing in the field rather than a bard in a high court.

Since their conversation on the night she had returned with the dragon’s skull, he had planned how he wanted to introduce her to seeing memories in the Fade. He would take her somewhere familiar and recent that would hold significance to her. He chose Haven because it had been where they had met and when he had first encountered her, though she was unconscious at the time. Although it could have never been a home to her, it had been the first host of the Inquisition.

As the evening grew late, he watched for Lavellan to return to her rooms. There seemed to be a great many activities she had to see to, as she had just received a shipment of clothing and some armor from the Dalish clan they had encountered in the Exalted Plains and her advisors were following her room to room as they debated what actions the Inquisition should take. People were coming to and leaving her rooms for quite some time while she ran around Skyhold. It was late when Lavellan returned to her rooms and the last servant finally descended her stairs and disappeared into the servants’ corridors off of her landing. When Lavellan did not reemerge, Solas removed himself from the main hall to his own room off the recently renovated garden. The bedrooms had only lately been restored but he had requested that his room not receive much adornment and so his bedroom had only the bear minimum of furnishings - a bed, a desk, a nightstand, and a small wardrobe that he did not use.

He closed the curtains on his window and poked the fire in the hearth that a servant had lit for him earlier. After the room had warmed slightly, he turned down the covers on his bed and removed his clothing for bed. He was still unused to sleeping in human beds, but the alternative of sleeping out in the open cold was far more unappealing, so he stayed inside and suffered the strange mattresses and sheets.

Though he knew exactly what he wanted to do and what to show Lavellan, he still found his heart pounding at the thought of meeting Lavellan in the Fade. She was a mage and so would be more aware of the dream and appreciate the work that went into recreating a memory. He found himself oddly nervous and he chuckled at his foolishness to lessen his anxiety. These were not thoughts he should be entertaining.

After some tossing and turning, Solas found sleep and the Fade opened up to him, magnificent and endless. He navigated through it, down the halls and memories of Skyhold, past the main hall and the door to her room and up the stairs to Lavellan. When he opened the door at the landing of her room, he stood outside of her dream, which overlapped with the furniture in the room. She lay in an endless field of grass with a young man with dark hair and bright eyes. The resemblance to her meant the young man had to be her brother. The night was warm and balmy and the air was filled with the sound of crickets and night creatures. Her brother lay against her shoulder and they conversed quietly in broken Elven.

He stepped through into her dream and Lavellan’s eyes found him. She sat up and her brother and the field disappeared around them in a shattering of stars, leaving them in a Fade-reflected version of her bedroom. In her dream her hair was pulled back, but cascaded down her back; her clothes were that of a First apprentice: a simple tunic with fur shoulders and leather-wraps for boots. He smiled at her toes.

“Solas?” She asked, surprised to see him.

“Come,” Solas extended his hand to her. Hesitantly, she approached him and placed her hand in his.

As soon as they made contact, he constructed his memory. He created Haven as it was before the night it was destroyed with every detail down to the last nail present. They stood at the front gates and he watched as Lavellan whipped around, turning on the spot to take in the scene. Most mages could only recall some detail in dreams and the rest was blurred out or faded, but his dream was solid, as though Haven had risen from the avalanche. He opened the gate for her and gestured for her to follow him as they walked through the memory.

“Why Haven?” She asked as they passed through the dream.

“It is familiar,” Solas replied. “And it will always be important to you.”

“I thought we had already spoken of that,” Lavellan murmured, her hand held out before her to catch the snow that was falling around them. 

As he watched her examining the snow in her hand, Solas assumed that she was surprised by how realistic the memory was and she could not distinguish if this was the Fade or not. Her eyes constantly flashed around the scenery. He led her to the Chantry and descended to the dungeon where he had first encountered her and stabilized the mark on her hand. 

The metal bar that had held her hands sat in the middle of the dungeon. “I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor,” Solas remarked.

She turned to look at him and asked with a smirk, “How long can it take to look at a mark on my hand?”

“A magical mark of unknown origin, tired to a unique Breach in the Veil? Longer than you might think.” He turned to face her as well. “I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”

Lavellan grinned then. “That sounds like her. She's a very 'threaten first and ask questions later' sort of person.”

“I think you are correct,” Solas agreed with a smile. He guided them back outside to where they could see the Breach clearly. As he walked he continued, “You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach.”

They reached the edge of the highest level of Haven, where the Breach swirled overhead. Her eyes watched him carefully as he continued to speak.

“Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra or she in me. I was ready to flee.”

“Where would you have gone? The Breach threatened the whole world.”

“Somewhere far away, where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me.” Lavellan raised a doubtful eyebrow at him and he admitted, “I never said it was a good plan.” She smiled at his admission.

He turned toward the Breach held his hand out to it, echoing his past self when he had first tried to close the rifts with magic. “I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts.” He lowered his hand and he felt Lavellan’s eyes on him as he turned back to her, the failure heavy on his conscience. “I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them.”

He approached her and she did not step away, only lifted her eyes to meet his; her demeanor was so calm. “I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then …” He gently grasped her wrist and held her marked hand up to the Breach. They relived the moment when she had closed her first rift and when Solas had begun to hope that something could be done to close the Breach and fix his mistake. In the dreamscape the Breach disappeared and Solas lowered Lavellan’s hand, though he did not let go of her wrist. It had been so long since he felt any kind of kinship with another Elf; did he trust her? 'Yes,' part of him whispered. 'She is different.'

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” He turned her hand over, running his free index finger over the mark, Lavellan’s gaze heavy upon his eyes. “You had sealed it with a gesture," he paused and struggled to find the right words. He admitted, "I felt the whole world change.”

“You felt the world change?” Lavellan whispered. 

He dropped her hand abruptly and stepped away. They were too close. “A figure of speech, lethallan,” he replied, not looking at her.

“You said you felt the world change. What did you feel?” She insisted, her voice and eyes steady like her hand as she stepped toward him and laced her delicate fingers with his.

“You …” He met her eyes and his resolve became lost in their light and the curve of her lips. “You change everything.”

She took him by surprise when she kissed him. It was tentative and small as she was not sure if he would reciprocate. But she need not have worried for the simple brush of lips ignited him. A single chaste kiss was not enough. A hunger he had not known he possessed growled in his chest and when she moved away, he brought her back to him and lowered his mouth to hers.

He could not control himself and he wished he had not met her in the Fade for this feeling was entirely too intoxicating. He pulled away to catch his breath and his wits, but at the sight of her wide eyes and slightly parted lips he could only shake his head as he kissed her a second time. He drank her in and when he pressed her against him she responded in earnest with her eager mouth. His long fingers tangled in her black curls and her hands wrapped around his back and chest, gripping his neck to bring his head closer to hers.

He never wanted to stop touching her and in the Fade that possibility was all too real.

It took all of his control to pull away from her soft mouth, to remove his hands from her. He physically ached to be away from her, but he had to step away.

“We shouldn’t,” he breathed. “It isn’t right. Not even here.”

Comprehension dawned on Lavellan’s face and she looked around at the scene in wonder. “This isn’t … is this the Fade?”

“Yes, where did you think you were?”

“The Fade distorts our perceptions of things,” Lavellan muttered in her defense. She held her hands out before her once more and watched the snow gathering in her palm. She looked back at him and asked, “You made all this?”

“Yes, it is a memory.”

“I’ve never seen such detail in a dream. Even in my most vivid memories, I could not …” Lavellan trailed off, still taking in the dream, the snow in her hands falling to the ground as she lowered her hands.

The dream needed to stop before he was carried away with her again. Her look of awe as she turned in circles made him want to hold her, to take her into the deepest memories he knew. To show her the truth.

He had to stop this now.

“This is a discussion best left for later,” Solas said as he stepped away from her. “Perhaps after you wake up.”

She disappeared from view as he drove her from his dream and woke himself in the physical world. He awoke blinking and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to erase Lavellan’s face from his mind, trying to forget the ecstasy of holding her, the softness of her lips, and the taste of her mouth. It had happened only moments ago and in a different place, but he could still smell the thistle on her clothes and he longed to embrace her once more.

What had he started?

 

* * *

 

She sat up quickly when she woke expecting to see Solas at the steps where he had stood when he had entered her dream. But of course he was not there. All that had been in the Fade. The kiss had been in the Fade.

The kiss. By the Dread Wolf, she had never been kissed like that and she found herself laying back down in her bed and grinning at the memory like a love-struck teenager. She had known that there was a mischievous side to him, the part of him that chuckled and smirked in mirth whenever she made a bad joke, but he had always been the gentleman, never taking advantage of her slight infatuation. Polite gentlemen like Solas were not supposed to kiss like that.

He had stopped the kiss however, she had to remember that. He may have reservations regarding their relationship. Well, she would just have to convince him otherwise for his actions in the Fade had proven that he felt something for her.

It was still very early morning. As much as she tried, she could not fall back asleep. So she spent the rest of the morning roaming about her room in her white nightgown and silk robe that she had just received and caught up on tasks she had been putting off. When the sun rose over the mountains she changed into the new clothing she had ordered. Josephine and Leliana had insisted that as Inquisitor she needed to be seen wearing clothes that fit and that were her own instead of the second-hand, over-sized outfit she had always worn in Haven. She had asked for a variation on the sort of clothing she would have worn with her clan. Her new knee-length tunic was faded blue and had a low v-neck with white fur shoulders. The tunic became a skirt that split in the front with one long piece that hung between her legs. She wore black wool leggings and traditional Dalish leather wrappings from the knees down that left her toes exposed. Over all of it was a gray cloak that she wrapped over her shoulders and that hung to her bottom.

After braiding her hair she admired herself in the mirror. She smiled at her reflection. In this outfit she felt beautiful and finally comfortable in her clothing. She gave a spin and adored the way the skirt spiraled around her and then rested again at her knees.

She was one of the first people at breakfast in the grand hall and she found herself stared at, for the Inquisition’s forces were not used to seeing their Inquisitor as an actual Dalish elf. Sera scoffed when she entered the main hall and saw her but after promising Sera cookies from the kitchen later on if she stopped her harrumphing, Sera told her that it suited her “elfy elf Inquisi-squirell” look.

“I thought I was the Sexitor now,” Arasinya joked.

“Right now, with that get-up on, you’re the elfy elf Sexitor,” Sera laughed.

“What did Sera just call you?” Solas asked as he sat down beside them in the main hall for breakfast.

Arasinya sputtered and choked on the tea she had been drinking and struggled to speak, so Sera answered, “Why, the other night we decided she’d be the Sexitor instead of just Sexy Inquisitor. You wouldn’t know though, cause you’re no fun, Sol _ass_.” Sera nudged Arasinya in the ribs with her elbow at the reference, which sent the latter into a coughing stint.

His expression dour, Solas ignored Sera’s remark and asked Arasinya if she was alright. She waved off his concern, feeling like she could die at that moment of embarrassment, and gulped some water to clear her throat. Sera continued to laugh at both of them but when neither reacted to her teasing, she left the table in a huff, leaving her plate and utensils behind.

Once she was gone, Arasinya was sorely tempted to leave as well but Solas was asking her something and she realized she had not heard what he said. She had not known how much her face could burn with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry?” She croaked.

“I was asking how you slept last night,” Solas repeated as he moved the food around on his plate.

There was no one sitting immediately next to them and yet Arasinya found herself struggling to answer. How could she convey that everything about the dream last night had been amazing? The detail of the memory, how Solas had confided in her, and possibly the best kiss she had ever experienced?

“I …” She realized she was taking too long to answer and blurted. “Wonderful, I slept wonderfully. I have never experienced such a dream. It was incredible and different," she narrowed her eyes and stared at him pointedly as she added, "on a number of levels.”

He chuckled at her and she was pleased that she could make him laugh, for his laughter was precious to her, she realized with a flutter of her heart. “I apologize,” Solas said after the chuckle subsided. “The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered and I should not have encouraged it.”

“Oh,” she murmured. She felt her chest deflate at his words. She tried to recover, “I thought you were interested. I’m sorry if I was mistaken.” She could not bring herself to look at him; she wrung her hands together and looked at them instead. She desperately wanted to leave the hall now and bury her head in the ground until she no longer existed.

“It is not that,” Solas clarified. She glanced at him but could not keep eye contact for long. Her eyes slipped back to her hands. “It has been a long time and things have always been easier for me in the Fade. I am not certain that this is the best idea.” Regret laced his words as he continued, “It could lead to trouble.”

She attempted to look at him once more and studied his face. His eyebrows were knitted in doubt and the corners of his mouth downturned. His countenance told her he did not want her to agree. Everything about his face, subtle as it was, was telling her to disagree. A tentative smile blossomed on her face and a hopeful confusion dawned on his as she looked up and met his eyes.

“I’ll risk it if you will,” she replied.

“I – maybe – yes,” Solas stammered. He recovered and continued, “If I could take a little time to think. There are considerations.”

“Of course,” she agreed eagerly, picking up her plate as she stood up from the table. “Take all the time you need. In the meantime, I need to go meet the Champion of Kirkwall. Should be interesting. Cassandra is going to have a conniption when she realizes Varric knew where she was all along.”

“I wish you luck, lethallan,” Solas bid her.

“Thank you, Solas,” she replied. As she walked away her hopeful enthusiasm drained. He had not outright denied her but he still hesitated. If they were both interested in one another and yet he wanted to take time, he must be facing some inner struggle. After the Breach had closed, she had assumed Solas had stayed with the Inquisition to help defeat Corypheus, but now she considered that he may still want to leave. Perhaps he did not want to start anything with her because he thought he was saving himself heartache in the future.

But if things were easier for him in the Fade and he had behaved so passionately, then there must be something there. With that knowledge easing her mind, Arasinya prepared herself to meet the Champion of Kirkwall and to soothe Cassandra’s ire.


	9. Here Lies the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter. Sorry about that. Anyway, the Inquisitor and the gang go into the Fade and it's terrible.

# Here Lies the Abyss

All benign thoughts of romance were cleared from Arasinya's mind as the Inquisition prepared to circumvent Corphyeus from creating an army of demons using the Grey Wardens. 

After they had located the Grey Warden Stroud and determined that the Grey Wardens were practicing blood magic to raise demons to defeat the darkspawn in the Deep Roads and kill the Old Gods, the Inquisition prepared to storm the Grey Warden stronghold, Adamant Fortress. Arasinya was offered a great deal of varying opinions concerning the Grey Wardens and what to do should they stop the demon army. While she had not been in Ferelden during the Fifth Blight, she had heard enough accounts to know that should another one occur due to the appearance of an Archdemon, Thedas would need the Grey Wardens to stop a potential Blight. They may have erred in their judgment considering the Calling that they were all hearing, but surely not all of them were willing participants in the madness, particularly the Hero of Ferelden, who was no where to be found.

Hawke and Stroud joined their siege of the fortress alongside with the bulk of the Inquisition's forces under Commander Cullen's lead. Solas, Cassandra, and Cole accompanied Arasinya into the fortress while her other companions helped with the siege. The small group traversed the ancient fortress, encountering demon and Grey Wardens alike. Many of the Grey Wardens joined them when Arasinya appealed to their common sense, but many others denied her help and attacked due to being controlled by blood magic.

When they encountered Warden Commander Clarel and Magister Erimond next to a gaping rift into the Fade, Arasinya pleaded with the remaining Wardens not yet under Ermiond's control to side with her. Her words had little effect until Erimond summoned the Archdemon to attack Arasinya and the veil was lifted from Clarel’s eyes as she turned on Erimond. Erimond fled from the courtyard where they had confronted him as Clarel pursued with Arasinya and her forces following close behind them, evading the Archdemon’s attacks all the while as the fortress crumbled around them. At the edge of the building, just as Clarel seemed to have the advantage, the Archdemon swooped down upon her, which is bad, and closed its jaws over her. The Archdemon gnawed on Clarel as a dog chews a bone and spit her out. Despite her fatal wound, Clarel was able to use her magic injure the Archdemon enough so that it fell off the edge of the fortress but at the cost of the building collapsing. The floor crumbled beneath them and as she and the others fell, Arasinya was forced to make the split-second decision of opening the Fade with her mark.

She was falling, falling, but just as she was about to crash into the ground, she halted. Suspended in the air, Arasinya tried to right herself as one would in water. It felt ridiculous trying to swim through the air but her coordinated but erratic arm and leg movements eventually got her feet to the ground. She sighed in relief as she looked around.

She did not remember the last time she was physically in the Fade, but she was not impressed by all the green, floating rocks and its defiance of gravity. The others who had fallen into the Fade with her were in varying states of suspended gravity and were trying to reason out where they were. While Cassandra stayed collected as possible and Solas was awed by being physically in the Fade, Cole was panicked and scared. It took several minutes of gentle coaxing from her to let him know she would protect him. Hawke and Stroud were both perturbed but they collected themselves and once they were all on the ground they determined to move forward in the Fade to where a rift had been in the physical world.

As they moved through the Fade, Solas marveled at being physically there and he guessed that they were in the realm of a powerful fear demon. Arasinya could sense it as well, a presence that permeated the air and raised the hairs on her neck. Fear was not a familiar emotion to Arasinya, for the Dalish were taught to be brave and bold in all things, but she felt the demon's influence bleeding through her skin and into her very bones. The eery scenery and dark remnants of the past that lodged themselves in the Fade did not help her feel any better.

"So, this must be very exciting for you," Arasinya remarked to Solas to distract herself from the present situation.

"It is," Solas replied eagerly. "A literal dream-come-true, if you will."

"Well," Arasinya muttered. "I'm glad at least someone is happy about this little excursion."

As they traveled deeper into the Fade, Arasinya encountered what appeared to be Divine Justinia. However, all of them were aware that the Fade was not a place to trust appearances and they concluded that it was not Divine Justinia but rather a benevolent spirit. The spirit that was masquerading as the Divine told Arasinya that her memories of the Conclave had been taken away by the fear demon but that she could regain them in the Fade.

The spirit helped Arasinya recover her memories in bits and pieces until they all came together to fill in the gaps of the that had been placed in her mind at the Conclave. The truth was stark: Andraste had not saved her, Divine Justinia had. It was all a mistake. She happened to walk in on something she was never supposed to see. And the orb, the focus, had made the mark on her hand. In a way she was relieved to know what had truly happened and that she was not the chosen of a figure whose divinity she did not recognize, but she also felt some disappointment, though she could not explain to herself why.

They left the spirit though it said it would help them if it could and delved deeper into the fear demon's realm in the Fade. The visions grew darker and the manifested fears grew in number and size. As they passed through the Fade the fear demon spoke to them, preying on their insecurities and mistakes. It spoke in Elven to Solas who replied in the same language, but Arasinya could not understand what they said though the words sounded familiar. She did not want to pry, but she was undeniably curious about what had passed between them.

To her, the demon told her that she had failed her clan, that Corypheus had forces prepared to destroy them. She did not respond to it, for it had truly pinpointed her greatest fear that her whole family could be destroyed due to her actions and connection to the Inquisition. In her spare time she had already mentally exhausted all the possible atrocities that could befall her clan - destroyed by zealots opposed to the Inquisition, used as leverage against her, or hunted down by Corypheus' forces as the demon threatened - the list was endless. She could not let the demon know the effect its words had on her; her Keeper would be ashamed if she caved into it.

As they neared the rift that would lead them back to the physical world, they passed a graveyard with her companions’ names on them. Cassandra, upset by her inscription, asked that they move on from the area, but Arasinya paused to read them, acting as though she could only read her own. While her companions seemed to be able to only read their own gravestones, Arasinya could read all of them. Some of the inscriptions were surprising to her and she made a mental note of being kinder to some of her companions. Solas' was most troubling of all: "Dying alone." What could have inspired that fear?

The spirit that had taken the form of Divine Justinia guided them to the fear demon, a monstrous creature that had gorged on the fear caused by the Blight for thousands of years. It was terrifying to behold and Arasinya knew that they would not be able to defeat the demon on their own. Fortunately, the spirit helped them by attacking the demon and weakening it significantly. Cassandra, Cole, and Solas were able to pass the demon while it was incapacitated but once it had recovered it proved to be too strong for Arasinya, Stroud, and Hawke. Stroud volunteered to stay behind so that the rest of them could escape and Arasinya was forced to accept.

When they emerged from the rift, Arasinya closed it and then, because it seemed like the right thing to do, she made a stirring speech about Stroud’s sacrifice in the Fade to rally her allies. She accepted the Wardens into the Inquisition’s forces and granted them permission to rebuild while under their protection. She pretended not to hear Solas’ grave sigh at her decision.  

As they left to go back to Skyhold with their new allies, Arasinya was reprimanded by both Solas and Cole for accepting the Grey Wardens as allies. She brushed them aside, more concerned with having the Inquisition send troops to protect her clan from anyone that would cause them harm. She mentioned it to Cullen in passing once they were back at the camp and he promised that once they were back at Skyhold he would make sure her clan was safe.

That night the camp was solemn but full as the Inquisition had grown significantly in number now that the Wardens had joined them. Arasinya watched all the lights of people under her command and knew she should be proud, but she only felt dread for her clan and sorrow for Stroud’s loss. She retired early without eating and once she was alone in her tent her tears leaked out of her eyes. For the first time since leaving her clan for the Conclave, she sobbed until her body could take no more.

Part of her wanted someone to burst into the tent and console her but she could not allow for the Inquisition to think her weak. She bit her hand as the sobs shook her and she rocked back and forth on her pallet wracked with worry. This privacy that she was given as the Inquisitor was maddening – never in her life had she ever been truly alone. Had she been crying in her camp at home, every member of her clan would have known and gathered around her to comfort her. Elves were not supposed to be alone like this. After her tears had dried and her breath steadied she eventually found sleep, though it was uneasy and in her worried state she could not control her nightmares. She woke up several times only to find herself crying yet again.

When they left for Skyhold next morning, she put on a brave face and if anyone noticed that the Inquisitor’s eyes were red and puffy or if she was far more reserved than usual, no one ventured to mention it. As they traveled, Cole asked Arasinya if she wanted her pain to go away but she shook her head.

“No, thank you, Cole,” she whispered. She was riding Mint and Cole had ridden up next to her on his own horse to ask her. “This is something I need to feel right now.”

“Why do you need to feel pain?” Cole asked, perplexed.

“I honestly don’t know,” she sighed in response. “Perhaps I need to remind myself that something can go wrong, no matter how much I try to prevent it.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“Nor should you,” Solas broke in, riding up to join them on his white Hart. Although he had been eavesdropping, Arasinya was relieved he was now taking over the conversation. “The Inquisitor needs to feel this pain right now so that she will be more vigilant in the future to prevent more hurt.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Cole protested. "Why should you feel pain to prevent pain?"

“It does not make sense to you because you are not human, Cole,” Solas explained. “It is not in your nature to understand that not all pain can be healed and not all pain is bad.”

Cole looked between Solas and Arasinya and announced, “Your clan is very proud of you, Ayala. You should not be sad for something that has not happened yet.”

Arasinya smiled then and looked up at Cole. “How did you know my nickname?”

“I picked it out from your thoughts,” Cole replied as though it were a simple matter. “Your clan and brother Sythaeryn calls you ‘Ayala’ and your oldest brother calls you ‘Underfoot’ and another one is mean and calls you ‘Halla Shit.’”

“Only when I’ve bested him at something,” Arasinya grinned.

“He doesn’t like it when a girl beats him at wrestling,” Cole remarked.

“No, he never did like that,” Arasinya agreed. “Thank you, Cole. You’ve cheered me up.”

“But I didn’t make you forget anything.”

“No, but you did remind me of happier times. No matter what happens, those memories are mine and they make me happy.”

Cole, content that he had done some good, hurried ahead as he was anxious to return to Skyhold and see his friends again, mostly Varric. When he was out of earshot Solas expressed some anxiety about Cole possibly being bound against his will by one of the Grey Wardens. Arasinya replied that she did not think it would be a problem but that they should prevent it from happening, just in case. 


	10. Waking World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that this story has had over 1,000 views! I originally started writing this for myself because I wanted more than the canon romance presented and I really thought it was silly for an elf that knew nothing of the human world to be sent to an important human meeting as a spy, so I wanted to build on my Lavellan's character so the story arch made more sense. I'm grateful for all the views, kudos, and comments! 
> 
> On that note, because I originally wrote this fanfiction for myself, I did a very cliché thing: I put a song in this chapter. It's "Not With Haste" by Mumford & Sons and when I made a Solavellan playlist (yes, I did) it was one of the first songs I added. Forgive me for doing this, but if Stephen King can reference "Hey Jude" in The Gunslinger, by God, I can reference a song in my fanfiction.

# Waking World

Their conversations had become charged with formality and a nervousness that had not been present before he had shown her the memory of Haven. Lavellan would still invite Solas to go on excursions to close rifts or come to the people’s aid or explore ruins, but the easy manner he had earned with her was now gone. He wanted to regret what had happened in the Fade, but he could not make himself forget the perfection of those brief moments. Furthermore, she seemed subdued and he knew the fear demon’s words had taken a toll on her that she was not showing.

Once he caught her in the mural room after returning from one of his excursions into Skyhold’s secrets. Skyhold had changed significantly since he had last been in the fortress and the new additions by its previous occupants were amusing and diverting to discover when he wished to stretch his legs. Lavellan was staring up at the walls and at his new addition depicting the events at Adamant. He approached her and she was startled to find him beside her.

He recalled their conversation long ago regarding his fresco and how she had admitted that art was never her strength. As they stood together, he quietly offered to teach her how to paint if she was interested. He did not understand his reasoning erhaps he wanted to spend more time with her or perhaps he wanted to be kind by giving her a challenge to keep her mind off Adamant.

“I’ve always wanted to learn, but I don’t know if there’s time,” she trailed off.

“Nonsense,” Solas replied. “I would like to teach you and it is a relaxing hobby.”

"I don't believe I have any natural propensity for painting, Solas."

"Talent is pursued recreation."

“Should I teach you how to play the lyre in exchange?” She asked, dubious.

“No, thank you. I’m afraid I would scare off all the Mabaris with my singing. But if you ever want to have your lessons with Cole here, I should like to hear the music,” Solas smiled.

“I hope you are not upset with the route that Cole chose,” Arasinya murmured. “I know you wanted him to remain as a spirit, but I thought we did what was best for him. As a human he’ll have a life in this world.”

Sighing, Solas responded, “I would have chosen for him to stay true to his original design as the perversion of a spirit’s purpose causes spirits to become demons. But from what I have seen of him, he is happy being human though his new nature still befuddles him. Perhaps we need a human like him in the world, a human of compassion.”

“I think he’s happier too,” Lavellan agreed with a smile before leaving him.

Their painting lessons were sporadic due to the Inquisition’s demands of her. She averaged perhaps two visits a week, though he encouraged that she practice her drawing between lessons. Her drawing was very poor indeed, but he helped her by having her emulate what she saw in books and paintings and trying to recreate what she saw. She was a quick study and her drawings did show improvement the more she practiced and used references. 

She liked color theory, enjoyed mixing colors, and her best paintings were of scenes of nature or animals. Her paintings were impressions of the real world, her paint in globs but the colors brilliant and complementary. While her technique lacked refinement, her ability to create scenes from her memory and imagination was exceptional. He observed that she would go into almost a trance in her concentration and it was very difficult to draw her attention once she was absorbed in her task. He also observed that she did not seem to notice if he studied her when she was in such a state and he took the opportunity to memorize her features. Though he had promised himself that would not attempt to rekindle what had occurred between them in the memory, he could not help but want to look at her.

When she had learned enough to work on her own, Solas would return to the planning of his frescos while she lay on her stomach working on a drawing or painting on the floor. They often worked in silence with the occasional disruption from Dorian making snide remarks about her painting in jest, which would result in Lavellan threatening to dip his moustache in paint if he was not careful with his words. This would result in an exchange of crude jokes and laughter for some time before Lavellan returned to her work.

She made several paintings for her companions. Usually the subjects were things that they liked or perhaps places that they had remarked upon or been impressed with. Iron Bull received a small painting of a dragon that they had killed in Crestwood while Sera had received a painting of a city with smog coloring the sky. They had both been well received and now hung in the tavern.  

Once, when it was snowing heavily outside, Lavellan had taken him up on his offer of having her music lesson with Cole in the mural room instead of on the ramparts. She and Cole sat on the couch and went over their scales and practiced songs while Solas sat on his scaffolding and painted the plaster he had put on the wall in the morning. She was a kind, patient teacher and Cole was so in tune with what she wanted that often she did not have to correct him verbally, rather he would read her emotions to see that he had played a note incorrectly and know how to correct it. Rather than distracting Solas, the music helped him focus on his brushstrokes over the rapidly drying plaster. 

After playing three songs with just the lyre, Cole requested that they play a song with words so he could practice his pacing. Varric, who had wandered in due to hearing the music in the main hall, agreed and suggested several songs between puffs of his pipe.

“I like the one about there being no sadness,” Cole suggested.

“That’s a little complicated, but you can handle it,” Lavellan agreed. “Our parts are different and the tempo changes between the verses and choruses so don’t rush. We’ll play the duet through once without words and then we’ll add them in the second time around.”

Cole did as she asked. He only needing correction twice the first time through and on the second time through Lavellan sang along with the tune. Her voice was of a medium range, quiet but strong, and the usual noise of the library above them ceased as she sang.

 _Your eyes they tie me down so hard_  
_I'll never learn to put up a guard_  
_So keep my love, my candle bright_  
_Learn me hard, oh learn me right_

 _This ain't no sham_  
_I am what I am_

 _Though I may speak some tongue of old_  
_Or even spit out some holy word_  
_I have no strength from which to speak_  
_When you sit me down, and see I'm weak_

 _We will run and scream_  
_You will dance with me_  
_They'll fulfill our dreams and we'll be free_

 _And we will be who we are_  
_And they'll heal our scars_  
_Sadness will be far away_

 _So as we walked through fields of green_  
_Was the fairest sun I'd ever seen_  
_And I was broke, I was on my knees_  
_And you said yes as I said please_

 _Do not let my fickle flesh go to waste_  
_As it keeps my heart and soul in its place_  
_And I will love with urgency but not with haste_

Cole finished the last chords of music and the silence hung in the mural room and library until Dorian broke it by asking, “Do you always smile like a simpleton when you play love songs, oh mighty Inquisitor?”

“Well when the subject is you, my dear sweetheart, of course I cannot help but smile,” Lavellan joked. She blew a kiss up at him in jest and he grimaced and pretended to be sick over the railing.

“Ugh, _women_ ,” Dorian groaned between fake heaves.

“Who is the man who sings with you in your head?” Cole asked of Lavellan as Dorian’s antics concluded and he returned to his work.

“What do you mean?” Lavellan asked.

“Sometimes, in your head, I hear him singing along in harmony,” Cole explained. He picked up on a trail of thought and began to ramble, “ _’He was supposed to meet me by the tree in three years’ time, like we promised. I went, family and clan be damned, but he did not._ ’ Why didn’t he meet you?”

For the first time, Solas turned to look upon the scene, his curiosity insatiable. Lavellan, still seated upon the couch across from Cole, had paled in response to Cole’s inquiry, her lyre still in her hands. Several moments passed as she gathered her wits and calmly responded, “That’s a personal matter, Cole.”

“But it hurt you,” Cole replied.

“Yes, it did,” Lavellan replied as she further collected her countenance. “But remember, sometimes we need to feel hurt.”

“Oh. I remember now,” Cole recalled. “Sometimes people need to hurt. Just because or to remember so that they won’t make the same mistakes again.”

“That’s right, kid,” Varric agreed. “Mortals are stupid like that.”

“But why didn’t he meet you? He loved you.”

Lavellan shrugged. “I don’t know. I have spent far too much time contemplating that very question and I am done wondering.”

“Love almost always ends in tragedy,” Varric remarked, coming to her rescue. “When love does work, it means either something miraculous or mundane has happened.”

“Mundane?” Lavellan asked with a smile. Solas found himself smirking as well as he returned back to his fresco. 

“Two people meet, they fall in love, they get married, have children, blah blah blah. Then a whole lot of nothing happens to them and they live happily ever after,” Varric explained. “Boring. Requited love is terrible for a good story.”

“Excuse me, Varric, but I believe that’s what most people want,” Lavellan said as her fingers absently picked at notes on the lyre.

“Of course it is,” Varric replied. “But it's too complacent, too easy. A good story tugs at the heartstrings, makes you ache, makes you remember the pain long after you've heard it. Tragedy stays with you like a slow-acting poison.”

“Can we play music again?” Cole inquired.

“Yes, please,” Lavellan replied in relief.

They resumed the lesson, though Lavellan did not sing again to Solas’ disappointment. After an hour or so, Lavellan was called away to meet in the war room and she ended the lesson. She left the instruments in his room for the moment while she was away and would pick them up again before she went back to her room. She returned late in the evening as Solas was working at his desk, examining the shards that they had been collecting all over Thedas. His finished fresco of Adamant had been finished only a half hour before. 

“I apologize for returning at this hour,” Lavellan said as she entered the room, her shoulders sagging with weariness. Her eyes were on the finished fresco as she explained, “I was being briefed for the ball at Halamshiral. I did not realize Shemlens had such complicated customs regarding nobility.”

“Most cultures have overly complex practices regarding nobility, and do not apologize for the hour. The instruments did no harm while you were gone,” Solas replied, his eyes resting on her as she tore her sight from the fresco and gathered up the lyre cases.

“Are you familiar with the intricacies of noble mannerisms?” She asked with a smirk as she approached his desk, the cases in hand.

“Quite,” Solas replied, his gaze steady upon her as she approached.

“Then you should accompany me to Halamshiral,” Lavellan suggested. “My advisors will be going, of course, but they want me to bring others as well to help gather information.”

Solas nodded and added, “I could speak with the servants where others could not should I join you. I imagine that you will not be dressed inconspicuously considering you represent the Inquisition, the elves may not wish to speak to you.”

“That’s true,” Lavellan agreed. She sighed and continued, “Leliana and Josephine are ecstatic about ordering me some ridiculous gown fit for a lady. I told them I did not want to wear Shemlen finery and be paraded about like a pet. They suggested I come up with a solution but I have none.”

“The Dalish do not have such finery,” Solas acknowledged. 

“No, it is not practical to wear beautiful dresses while romping around in the wilds. We do not have velvet or lace, they do not keep you warm at night.”

“Then you need to look outside the Dalish for inspiration,” Solas suggested with an airy wave of his hand. 

She hesitated and Solas knew that had her hands not been full they would have been worrying one another or the end of her braid. He waited for her to find the right words and rested his head on his hands as he looked up at her. 

“I was actually thinking of asking you about what ancient elves wore,” she admitted. “I’ve seen carvings and statues of them during our travels, but you’ve seen them in the Fade.”

He answered carefully, “Our people did have finery. The women typically wore robes, like a dress, adorned with embroidery and crystals, and the sleeves were long enough to brush the floor. They flowed, the material light – the slightest wind could stir them.”

“That sounds lovely. Would it be too much trouble if you could possibly draw one so I have something to show Leliana and Josephine?” She asked.

“I would be happy to, though in return I wonder if I might make a personal inquiry about a matter you mentioned earlier today.” Solas avoided her eyes as he spoke.

“You know you may ask me anything, Solas,” Lavellan replied quietly.

“I am merely curious and I do not wish to pry or bring up any unpleasant memories-“

“You want to know about the man Cole mentioned?” She cut him off and narrowed her eyes at him.

“As I said, I am merely curious, you need not indulge me,” he repeated, still not meeting her eyes.

Her face grew grave as she considered the matter and he regretted asking her. He had not lied about being curious about the man Cole had mentioned for he had never seen Lavellan so shocked nor had she ever mentioned she had a lover for whom she would have left her clan, a grave decision for a Dalish. Perhaps he felt some modicum of jealousy as well, for though they had agreed to wait to see how their relationship played out, he could not help but dislike the idea of her with another man. She was old enough to be married and to have children and yet she was not – unusual for the Dalish who were low in population and ever sought to grow in number. But he knew that some memories are best left buried and perhaps this man was one of hers.

“I suppose,” Lavellan started and then trailed off for a moment. “It was a long time ago, but it was a major disappointment. I’ve never told anyone about it because had the knowledge been made public to my clan, I would have been disowned or exiled.” She sighed and Solas saw her eyes harden in regret. “When I first started learning of Shemlen to better trade with them, I met a human who I traded songs with and I fell in love with him.”

Solas took a moment to reply for he was shocked. “Well, it is no wonder you did not tell your clan.”

“Nothing ever became of it, we were so young,” Lavellan informed him. “Before we parted for the last time we agreed that in three years, if we still wanted to be together, we would meet under the tree where we had met. I showed up, he did not. And that is all there is to it.”

“Do you know what became of him?”

“No, he was a minstrel and he changed his name often depending on how he wanted the people to perceive him and I did not want to present myself with the temptation to follow him, so I never tried to find him.”

“And that encounter did not mar your opinion of humans?” Solas asked.

“It made my opinion of them better, actually,” she replied with shrug.

“You are always surprising me, lethallan,” Solas remarked.

“Am I?” She asked and he smirked in response. “I suppose it’s good to know that I’m not boring you when we talk.”

“Your personality is far too vibrant to bore anyone,” Solas complimented her. Her lips pursed as she attempted not to smile at the compliment, but the corners of her mouth quirked at his words.

“Let me know when you have finished the sketch. And thank you, again.” She hefted her cases once more and left his room, his eyes followed her as she left and lingered on the sway of her hips. When she had closed the door, Solas went to work on the sketch, a smile across his lips as he drew.


	11. We Dreamed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I promise there are lots of long ones ahead (my two smut/fluff chapters are approaching 10k words together)! Next weekend, I am moving. I don't know how much time I'll have for writing or if my utilities will be set up correctly (my boyfriend is handling that so anything could happen), but I will try to update Sunday March 29th. If I don't, I will update two chapters on the following Sunday because I love you all so much.

# We Dreamed

As the peace talks at Halamshiral approached there were few things that brought Arasinya solace amid the chaos of planning. Whenever she had a free moment she tried to lose herself in her music or her painting. But her dreams were her greatest source of comfort. 

Since learning that she could dream of memories in the Fade, Arasinya sometimes relived memories or replayed conversations so that she could pick up on nuances that she may have missed the first time around in the physical world. Oftentimes she studied books or scrolls she had read earlier in the physical world or practiced her music and her broken Elven. Sometimes she lived out fantasies, such as going home to be embraced by her family and congratulated for all her accomplishments with the Inquisition. Sometimes the dreams were of a more intimate nature, but she had stopped these dreams after her time with Solas in the Fade.

The kiss haunted her waking and sleeping hours with longing and desire for intimacy, to not feel alone. It was difficult enough to keep her feelings reigned in around Solas when they spent so much time together travelling and during their painting lessons, but it was much more difficult to prevent her mind from wondering into the realm of physical acts in the Fade. For she knew now that he could enter her Fade dreams and stay outside the edges of her dreams, seeing but not being seen. More than once she thought she felt a gaze following her during her nighttime travels through the Fade and when she turned to pinpoint the source, there was never anything there.

She resumed her normal activities over time. She used her sleeping hours to play music, pick the chords with her hands and add sounds and choruses that could not be made in the waking world. The story of the song would manifest in the Fade and she observed the song in fragments and pieces. Often she sang. In the Fade, her voice rang stronger and lovelier than when she sang to Cole and Varric. She lost herself in her music and in the corner of her mind she allowed herself to remember the kiss, even though she worried he may watch her and somehow knew that it was what she desired.

She desperately hoped that he could not see into her mind in the Fade.

When she did not play music, she lay in a field with an endless sky of stars above her and she recounted all the constellations she knew. When she connected the stars with her lines the constellations came alive to flow across the sky. Fenrir howled at the moon in lament and the stars rattled as Tenebrium flew through the sky, his feathery wings leaving trails throughout the cosmic heavens.

The moments she held the closest to her heart were the ones where she relived some of her favorite memories from the physical world: running through the forest, climbing the highest trees, diving into deep lakes, swimming through sunken ruins, and leaping over vast ravines. These were often exaggerated in the Fade, but the joy and exhilaration at being one with her body and being aware of the Fade’s every sensation felt real to her. The anchor on her hand had given her a permanent connection to the Fade. The more she explored it and colored it with her memories, the more vivid her dreams had become, a delight to the senses.

Several weeks after Adamant, she relived a conversation with her youngest brother Sythaeryn, the sibling she was loath to leave behind. She watched a memory of their conversation, almost two years in the past, about her leaving to go to the Conclave at the Keeper’s request.

“You should not leave, Ayala,” her brother had implored. He looked so much like her save that part of his head was shaved and his hair only reached his shoulders. When they were younger they were harder to tell apart, but now he was muscular, tall, and strong, and his face bore the symbols of Falon’din.

Her memory self stood up in the secluded clearing in the forest, their secret place when they lived in these woods. Her words were different from the ones that she had said in the past. “No, I should not have left, but I needed to. I needed to help our clan and I needed to test my boundaries and strengths.”

“The Shems will hurt you, like they did before. They killed you Ayala. You were dead when I found you but you were given back to us. You cannot leave again, you cannot throw away your gift of life.”

“The Shemlen cannot hurt me, for I am now their leader. Did you ever think that could happen, da’len? A Dalish leading humans?” Her false words echoed.

“I won’t see you hurt again. I know we’re not as close as we used to be but …” Her brother gripped his bow and he lowered his head to hide his tears. “I don’t want you to go.”

She rushed to him and hugged him. He had not allowed it then, he had backed away and left her, but in the Fade he allowed it. Lavellan buried her face in the crook of her brother’s neck. He was so much taller than he used to be. Five years younger than her but he had outgrown her before she was even done growing. Though she knew the gesture was not real, she was grateful to be held once more but her moment was interrupted when she felt a presence outside her dream. 

“Solas, I don’t want you to see this,” Lavellan whispered into the Fade. She forced the scene away and stood with her hands by her side, the smell of her brother still in the air.

“I apologize, lethallan,” Solas murmured as he materialized from the edge of where the forest once was. He wore the clothes he usually wore in Skyhold but there was something ethereal to Arasinya’s eye, as though he were a mirage. He cast a long, dark shadow. “I came across your dream at a private moment.”

“I am very homesick of late,” Arasinya could not help but let the words spill from her mouth. How she hated the way the Fade could make her tell the truth, could make her impulsive. He stood less than an arm’s length away and not for the first time Arasinya wished he would wrap his arms around her once more. She had been disappointed in love so often that she should know better than to long for his touch, but it was what she wanted. She knew he would not willfully hurt her. 

“Our time in the Fade at Adamant was trying for most of us, I think,” Solas confided, disrupting her thoughts. “Your greatest fears were exposed and it reminded you of what you feared most.”

“Losing my family,” Arasinya confirmed with a nod. She looked up into Solas’ face and her eyes searched his for consolation. “I left them and I have not come back. The fear demon said that Corypheus has them in his sights. A whole clan destroyed, just to break me. They are safe for now, Cullen told me as much, but that does not mean that they are not a target.”

“It is entirely possible that he may attack them, I’m afraid,” Solas lamented.  

Did he pity her? She could not tell for he had always expressed disdain for her people and their beliefs. Perhaps he too was distrubed by what had been said in the Fade. She ventured, “What did the demon say to you in the Fade, Solas? I could hear the words but I could not understand, as though something were blocking my comprehension.”

Solas was reluctant to answer the question, she saw him squirm under her scrutiny. Finally he answered, “He brought up a mistake I had made in the past. I do not wish to speak of it.”

“I see. We all make mistakes,” she agreed. It was so easy to talk to him in the Fade - she was not afraid of acting the fool. She continued, “The tombstone, in the Fade, it said that you feared dying alone.” She stepped closer to him and struggled to resist laying her hands across his chest. She peered into his solemn eyes. Their color always reminded her of an oncoming storm. The Fade answered her thought with the rumble of thunder overhead that caused the ground to shake.

"I do," he uttered and the sadness in his voice was deeper than any unfathomable sea. Her feet moved her closer to him without volition as the sky in the Fade opened up and poured rain down upon them. Her hands gently grasped his forearms as she looked up into his face. He was looking at her with a confusion that she did not understand. She wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to let him know he was not alone. The rain surged and flooded the Fade, wetting their feet and shocking Arasinya into realizing their closeness.

She remembered his words. 'Considerations.' Arasinya backed away from him, dazed. She willed the Fade to empty of water and she replaced the scene with a forest, one of the areas her clan had frequented so often as they traveled across the Free Marshes. The trees were old, tall, and endless. 

“You invited me to one of your dreams once,” Arasinya stated. Solas’ gaze was heavy on her skin. “Join me in one of mine.”

The tilt of his head spoke volumes; he did not think it was a good idea.

“I promise not to kiss you this time,” Arashinya vowed with a lightness she did not feel. She stretched out her hand. “I merely want some company.”

“Then you shall have it,” Solas promised as he took her hand.

She pulled him along until they were running through the trees at break-neck speed. Halla sprouted up from the ground in clouds of leaves and galloped beside them as she ran in pure exhilaration at their pace. They leapt over roots and rolled under low-hanging branches, their feet pounding across the forest floor and lifting them high into the air.

Her long black hair streamed behind her. She could not remember when it had been released from its braid. She looked at Solas before they crossed a crevice that was far too wide for them to leap across in the physical world but was only a skip in the Fade, and saw that he was smiling. Her heart bloomed in happiness at the sight as she took his hand again to fall through the air.

They fell into the endless sky of the Fade.


	12. Shall They Wander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I moved into my first house this past weekend and everything's been crazy! As promised, I will be releasing two chapters this weekend. This one tonight and then another on Sunday. Hope you enjoy!

# Shall They Wander

In preparation for the ball at Halamshiral, Lavellan had begun dance lessons in the main hall and the noise had become ever more disruptive. For the last four days they had brought in the bard from the tavern and he frequently heard Josephine, Leliana, Vivienne, and Dorian’s voices from the hall as well. It was on the fourth night of dance lessons, when he could not focus at all on reading or planning his frescos, that Solas left his room to join the small crowd of spectators.

Lavellan was dancing with Dorian in the great hall. The room had been cleared and the chairs and tables were pushed up against the walls and stacked to leave a wide open space in the center. Solas assumed the Tevinter was the only male willing to partake in dancing as Cullen, Blackwall, and Ironbull were nowhere in sight. Varric watched from the sidelines but Solas also assumed dancing with someone much shorter than her would not have been to her benefit.

Solas had never seen Lavellan in a dress and although the one she wore now was a simple scooped neckline garment that brushed her bare toes, he could not help but admire her figure. As the music echoed through the room, Lavellan circled about it with Dorian, their figures synchronized to the tune. It was only when Dorian cracked a joke under his breath and Lavellan began giggling uncontrollably did their dancing lose its perfection and their feet faltered and the music screeched to a stop.

“Perhaps we need a more serious dance partner for the Inquisitor,” Leliana mused. Josephine and Vivienne both nodded gravely to the general amusement of Dorian and Lavellan.

“Please, I am the only man in Skyhold that has an ounce of dancing education,” Dorian mocked protested. “The styles I have been taught may be different from Orlesian dances but at least I am not stepping on her toes, like Iron Bull would be doing.”

“Oh? So _dancing_ is what you and Iron Bull have been doing above the tavern to make all that noise? He must have stepped on your toes often, for there was a terrible deal of grunting,” Lavellan joked as she wiggled her eyebrows at the man. Dorian stuck out his bottom lip at her, trying not to laugh as well, and gave her a gentle smack on the arm to show his indignation.

“Solas,” Josephine addressed him, erasing the smile that had grown on his face from the exchange. “Do you know how to dance? We could get through _all_ the steps if Inquisitor Lavellan was not laughing with her partner the entire time.”

Lavellan stuck her tongue out at Josephine as Solas quietly declined. “I’m afraid I will pass this evening.”

“Afraid _I’ll_ step on your toes?” Lavellan asked with a grin.

He crossed the room to sit with Varric and replied, “No, Inquisitor, but I am afraid of embarrassing myself. I have two left feet, you understand.”

She smirked at him but did not press the issue. Leliana, Josephine, and Vivienne, disappointed with Dorian, contemplated if Cullen could stand to practice with Lavellan without blushing and falling all over himself in her presence. It was widely known that the commander harbored some affection for Lavellan, though it had declined considerably since coming to Skyhold. 

Eventually Josephine danced with Lavellan, taking turns leading and with some gentle corrections the pair was gliding across the front hall, perfectly in sync. When Cullen made a brief appearance to slip past them and into the war room, Leliana apprehended him and teasingly demanded that he practice in case he was asked by a noble to dance. Lavellan held her hand out to him, grinning, as Cullen stuttered to excuse his way out of any dancing.  

“Commander, you are unafraid to face a demon army or red Templars, but you hesitate to dance with me?” Lavellan playfully reprimanded him.

“I am not afraid,” he corrected her, his face red and his shoulders tense. “I-I am not a good dancer. I do not dance.”

“Neither did I,” Lavellan comforted him as she approached him as one would approach an injured, frightened animal. “But I have learned, and so can you.”

“I do not want to step on your toes,” Cullen said as he stared down at her feet.

“Then take off your shoes,” Lavellan suggested.

Cullen grimaced in response. “That may not be a good idea.”

“Smelly feet?” She asked, her grin growing.

He did not respond to her inquiry but stood still as though trying to disappear though he was in the middle of the room. Eventually Lavellan gave up and told him he could leave and he made a beeline to the war room. Dorian threw back his head and laughed at Cullen before offering to be her dance partner again.

Once Lavellan was comfortable dancing, Leliana and Josephine informed her of the nobility she would encounter at Halamshiral and how to act with them. They taught her to bow when she met the Empress and the subtleties of a curtsy and incline of the head and had her practice until they were satisfied with her movements. They debated teaching her the intricacies of the hand fan but Lavellan outright refused to practice something so ridiculous in her eyes.   

They then discussed who would be accompanying them, to which Lavellan readily replied Iron Bull, Varric, and Solas. Leliana’s eyes lit up as she began speaking of the gown they had designed for Lavellan based off the sketch Solas had made. Vivienne’s tailor had offered his services to the Inquisition for Halamshiral, for it was a wonderful opportunity to showcase his work to the nobility, and had come to Skyhold to take Lavellan’s measurements earlier in the week and work on the gown, as well as Leliana’s and Josephine’s.

“Halamshiral is going to be a mess,” Varric remarked. “She’s going to cause quite a stir. A Dalish Elf in the halls of the Winter Palace and her non-human companions – the scandal of it all.”

Dorian had joined Varric and Solas as the servants began replacing the furniture in the main hall and he agreed, “If it wasn’t for the fact that I would be chased out of Halamshiral with torches and pitchforks for being an evil Teveniter Magister, I should love to see the mayhem our Elf friend accomplishes. Also, the hats. I adore hats.”

“Cole would probably like the hats as well,” Varric added. He knit his fingers together and leaned back in the chair he was sitting in. “My books did horribly in Orlais according to my publisher, but the Inquisitor insists that I go to meet any fans.”

“Should Cole have been chosen for Halamshiral, I imagine many nobles would be leaving without their hats at the close of the evening,” Solas commented as Lavellan broke away from the women and joined the men’s group.

“I think you’re right,” she agreed as she sat down. “But I also think that he would probably scare half the nobles out of their shoes, the way he talks sometimes.”

“That’s true,” Varric agreed. “And what about you, Inquisitor? How do you think you’ll fare at the grand ball?”

“Well I’ve heard some stories about balls, mostly from children in the villages we would camp near,” Lavellan mused. “My carriage will be made from an enchanted squash and I shouldn’t lose my shoe, or maybe I should because then a prince will marry me, and I need to be home by midnight. I should also be wary of magic peas and spinning wheels, or was it knitting needles? In any case, I think I’m going to have a wonderful time so long as there are talking animals.”

“It’s a pumpkin, my dear,” Dorian corrected her. “Your carriage will be an enchanted pumpkin and of course you want to lose your shoe.” Dorian winked. “Perhaps our Commander can return it to you.”

“And they say Elven lore is strange,” Lavellan joked. “Honestly, I’ll be surprised if I’m not called a knife-ear at least a dozen times or mistaken for a servant.”

“If someone hands her a dirty glass or asks her to fetch _hors d’oeuvres s’il vous plait_ , please tell me the story in gushing detail,” Dorian asked of Varric.

“I’m sure that after we scrub the blood off the walls after the Inquisitor is done with them, it’ll make a great tale,” Varric laughed. “We might not be able to wear weapons out in the open but you have those spirit-sword-things.”

“You’ll be in excellent hands, after all she beat me sparring with magic,” Dorian added. “ _Me_. And I’m a prodigy, the result of generations of careful breeding.”

“And I’m an illiterate Elf that spawned from mud and I’m going to the Imperial ball!” Lavellan marveled mockingly.

“Before you go to the ball, do try to clean the dirt between your toes, my dear. You don’t want to make the nobles sick,” Dorian implored with a mock-haughty gesture at her feet.

“But of course! I will attend to that right after ending you,” Lavellan smiled.

Dorian stood up, “I don’t doubt it. Just be gentle, won’t you?”

He left the group and when he was out of earshot Varric remarked, “I swear if we didn’t hear Sparkler and Tiny getting it on every night, I’d think he was in love with you.”

Lavellan laughed. “He’s wonderful, but I'm not at all his type. He has become one of my greatest friends,” Lavellan smiled. 

“I did not know you had been sparring with the others, lethallan,” Solas finally broke into the conversation, curious about the new information.

“You haven’t been out to the courtyard much,” Varric explained. “She’s fast, so it gives her a good advantage.”

“It feels like I keep getting stronger and stronger, the more I learn,” Lavellan mused. “I think it’s because of the mark. The more I use it and the more I draw on the Fade with my magic, the more the Fade opens up to me.”

Her words rang true to Solas. He had been surprised by the improvement in the quality of Lavellan’s dreams. When he ran with her in the woods, the environment had been crisp and clear and the edges of the dream had not been as blurry as a regular mage’s dreamscape. He worried about the mark at times, for he knew it may revert to an unstable state and his magic may not be enough to stop it. 

“Weird mage shit,” Varric grumbled. “It could be that you’re practicing, a lot.”

“That may also be true,” Solas said as he sat forward in his seat and rested his elbows on the table as he studied Lavellan. “But I believe that Lavellan is correct in her assumption. You are permanently connected to the Fade. It bends to your will.”

“That’s not ominous,” Lavellan laughed.

“It has been some time since I looked at the mark, has it changed at all? Is it causing you any pain?”

Her left hand raised and she held it before Solas so that he could see it. “It has not. And no.”

Had Varric not been present he would have taken her hand and ran his fingers over it, savoring the brief opportunity to touch her once more and feel the whisper of her magic on his skin. But he forced himself to only gaze at it and agreed with her, the mark had not changed.

“Well, that’s good, right?” Varric asked.

“It is,” Solas confirmed. “Though we cannot know what long term effects it may have on her. For now, it is doing no harm.”

Lavellan and Varric continued to converse as Solas considered the matter of the mark. It was attached to her for the rest of her life, however long that may be, and it physically connected her to the Fade, more so than the strongest mage. The Fade was everlasting, shaped by the imagination of those that walked it and especially by mages with extraordinary power. Her increasing strength must be due to that connection and he wondered what other effects the mark had had upon her. Had it changed her, when she received the mark? He knew enough of her life and past to know she had reason to be the way she was: open-minded and compassionate, determined and light-hearted. But had the mark altered her with something older from the Fade? How else could she be so different from every Elf he had met so far? Someone that loved her past but questioned it, someone that was open-minded yet proud of her heritage.

Someone he was thinking about far too often.

He struggled with the idea of her, with the temptation of her. How easy it would be to lose himself in that woman, to cast off the past and to allow himself to indulge in her presence.

With a mumbled excuse, Solas extracted himself from her and returned to his mural room. He stared at the blank slate of wall that would become the fresco for the events at Halamshiral and pondered what he would be painting. 


	13. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a second chapter this weekend for missing the last. I'll be updating again on Saturday due to going on a vacation and I'll try my best to update the next weekend as well. We're only four updates away from the smut (finally). I know I'm doing the quests out of order (All New Faded for Her is usually done before Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts) but the pacing for my story makes more sense this way.
> 
> I drew a version of the dress described in this chapter and it's here on my DA, but this was when Lavellan had Mythal markings and no crystals in her hair: inescapably blithely

# Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

They left for Halamshiral several days in advance and stayed at a hotel outside of the palace. They were constantly briefed with information about the nobles and any plots that Leliana’s spies had overheard. Solas was already interacting with servants, extracting what information he could, though most of it was idle gossip or information the Inquisition already knew. When he had been informed by the advisors that he would be introduced as Lavellan’s elven manservant at the ball, he had laughed at the title, but had not argued. One Elf in an elevated status would be enough for the Orlesians. 

Iron Bull had been an excellent choice for a companion. He was teaching Lavellan how to look for tells in people’s faces and their body language. The others would take turns telling her lies and facts to see if she could tell one from the other. Considering the company, she had difficulty in telling the difference as all of them were accomplished liars, save for Cullen.

The ball would start in the evening and last until the morning, so on the day of the ball, the Inquisition’s party slept in late. Lavellan was swept away with Leliana and Josephine to prepare for the evening in another part of the hotel while the menfolk were left alone. Cullen and Iron Bull sparred while Varric and Solas passed the time by playing cards. Solas found himself evenly matched with Varric, but he enjoyed playing with the dwarf, though he suspected that he was cheating.

By late afternoon, the men were washed and dressed in the Inquisition’s uniform finery. Solas’ clothing was less adorned due to being a servant for the evening, though he wore the same red, blue, and gold as the others. He had considered wearing a pointed hat that Leliana had provided for him, but decided against it. Fortunately for Iron Bull, the shirts and jackets buttoned up instead of going over the head, but he grumbled loudly as they left their rooms for the lobby that he hated wearing the shirt and jacket at all.

The women were waiting in the hotel lobby for them, among other nobles who had come out for the ball. Already they were surrounded by curious nobles who wanted to meet the Inquisitor and see the mark on her hand for themselves. Leliana and Josephine stood nearby making introductions in their Orlesian gowns, both striking in their fine regalia.

Solas did not immediately see Lavellan as she was surrounded by people, but she looked up when they entered the room and his eyes fixed upon her. He found that as he approached her he could not look away.

The sketch that he had provided for her had been turned into reality. The gown was long and form-fitting and the cloth ruffled with the softest movement. It was a dark blue, as dark as the night sky, adorned with tiny crystals that fell in drops down her dress and sheer sleeves. Her hair had been braided on top of her head in an elaborate design with crystals inlaid with the tresses with some loose curls fetchingly framing her face. Had it not been for the place, the time, and the marks on her face, Solas might have believed he had glimpsed an Elf from Arlathan.

Her face lit up as the men approached them and she escaped her admirers to compliment the men for their uniforms and marveling that Iron Bull would consent to cover his 'tits' or Varric his chest hair.

“Well we can’t have all the women at the grand ball falling all over themselves in a frenzy,” Varric explained.

As she laughed, she turned to Solas and he felt his breath catch in his throat. She was absolutely stunning. She asked how she thought his sketch had turned out and he had to clear his throat before replying.

“It is remarkable that they caught its likeness,” he remarked. “Although, it is technically not a robe.”

“I have never worn anything so fine in my entire life,” she commented as she looked down to admire the dress.

“Well, I hope you are comfortable in it,” Leliana said as she and Josephine approached the group so that they could leave for the Winter Palace. “You will be dancing in it all night, I imagine. I have already had many requests from footmen announcing that their lords and ladies would like to meet you tonight.”

“I suppose we’ll have to fit that in between thwarting a high-profile assassination,” Lavellan sighed. She composed herself and smiled at the group around her. “Well, have we waited around enough to be fashionably late yet?”

They traveled to the ball by carriage and Lavellan complained that they were not arriving in a pumpkin. She was greeted by the Empress’s cousin, Duke Gaspard at the gates and the man fawned over Lavellan and offered her several compliments while hinting at information regarding the peace talks taking place during the evening. Solas was impressed by how Lavellan handled the man, for she neither promised him anything nor denied him, and she balanced her expression between aloofness and candid warmth.

Before he departed for the palace, Duke Gaspard lifted her left hand and planted a light kiss upon it. The sight caused Solas to inwardly cringe though outwardly he kept his face a mask of disinterest. These humans with their masks and false smiles were nothing compared to her.

They dispersed among the crowd after being announced to the nobility and greeted by Empress Celene. It may have been because their faces were hidden behind masks, but Lavellan seemed to have been received well by some of the crowd despite her origins, a testimony to the Inquisition’s good work. Though Solas did see many other nobles shaking their heads at her and sneering at her presence. Solas went about introducing himself to the servants and asking about any suspicious activity. He learned little from them, save that elves were disappearing in a certain part of the palace. As he moved through the crowd, he heard bits and pieces of information, though none terribly crucial to their goal this evening. The food and drinks the servants were passing about were far more interesting and he found himself indulging in a frilly sort of cake filled with cream.

He found it surreal to see Lavellan, a Dalish Elf, wearing finery and conversing among the nobles as though she belonged. She was learning the Game, what they called the careful art of courtier life in Orlais, and she was a natural. Although there were many factors stacked against her popularity, the nobility was too curious not to ignore her. Her easy manner and ethereal appearance made her all the more alluring as she glided about the palace.

Solas stood by as she talked to the nobility and his eyes followed her as she moved throughout the room. After excusing herself, she approached him and drew close so that their words would not be overheard. Her light scent of thistle clouded his thoughts as she asked him if he had learned anything.

“The Elves and their leader are planning something this evening, but I know little more,” he admitted.

“I overheard a conversation between some, but I was not sure what they were referring to,” Lavellan echoed. She sighed and looked up at him, a smile creeping across her face. “Do you have any interest in dancing?”

“A great deal. Although I doubt dancing with an Elven apostate will win you many favors in court,” Solas advised, though he was reluctant to decline the offer.

She scoffed. “Solas, if it escaped your notice, I’m _also_  an Elven apostate. I don’t think it will make a difference to them and I don't care about their opinion. Have some of that delightful punch, and you won’t care either.”

He chuckled at her comment and was rewarded with her smile. How his resolve diminished at the sight of it. His hand lifted of its own volition to brush her cheek with his thumb but he stopped himself and clinched his hand in protest.

“After, perhaps, but not now,” he struggled to answer, removing his gaze from her face.

“Alright,” she agreed, eyeing his hand with suspicion. “I’m holding you to that.”

She left him and he could not help but watch as she walked away. Her dress trailed slightly behind her and her sleeves fluttered as she moved. She sparkled and glimmered as she moved through the beams of moonlight streaming through the windows and his gaze was lost in her brilliance. It took the better part of a minute for Solas to clear his mind and carry on with the task at hand.

The evening passed and Lavellan disappeared several times into the palace only to return with information regarding Briala, Celene, and Gaspard with the help of Lady Morrigan’s advice. She danced with the Duchess, as well as several others who were clamoring for her attention and her movements across the ballroom caught the eyes of every interested party. At one point she gathered her companions, having to almost drag Varric away from the adoring fans of his books, to investigate the kitchens and royal wings of the palace. She lamented having to fight in her lovely dress but she managed to keep the blood and gore from the fighting off her outfit.

As the assassination plot was revealed to them and the Duchess was found to be the mastermind behind it, Lavellan developed a plan to blackmail the leaders of the peace talks into cooperating. In a scene that seemed to be more appropriate for a novel rather than real life, Lavellan revealed to the assembled court that the Duchess had been plotting to assassinate Celene and had her arrested. No one questioned her, for she had been an unequivocal success that night and the Duchess was arrested without any harm. She then disappeared with Briala, Celene, and Gaspard and later emerged with them and stood by as the three announced Celene and Briala's alliance to end the civil war and to work with the Inquisition to defeat Corypheus. While Gaspard was not mentioned nor seen, Solas could only assume that the man would be executed to secure Celene's position.

It was almost morning as the ball began to dwindle. No one seemed to want to leave in case something else magnificent or exciting occurred, but the rest of the event passed without any happenstance save that Iron Bull finally ripped the seams of his jacket and went shirtless the rest of the night.

Lavellan had removed herself from the bustle of the ballroom after the alliance had been announced. It took Solas nearly half an hour to track her down to a secluded balcony overlooking a magnificent garden and water fountain. She had been speaking to the Imperial Court Magical Advisor, a Lady Morrigan. The human left the balcony and Lavellan was alone. Through the glass she saw her leaning on the balcony railing, perfectly still save for the wisps of curls around her face and her dress that rustled with every slight breeze.

As he opened the door to the balcony, Lavellan turned and rested her hands on the stone railing behind her. Her eyes followed him as he approached her and stopped directly before her. The music from the ballroom leaked outside and mingled with the crickets in the garden.

“I had worried that the punch may have been too delightful for you, but you disappeared instead. This seems a tranquil spot,” Solas observed, though his eyes never left her.

“It is,” she agreed. She looked over her shoulder at the fountain and garden. In the starlight the skin of her throat and shoulders was pale and, by contrast, her black hair was impenetrably dark. “I wanted the quiet.”

“How are you feeling, lethallan?”

“Tired, but I think we did some good here. Celene and Briala were doing well before Gaspard got in the way. Celene is a terrible woman, but Briala should keep her in check. With the two of them united and Briala with a title, they will be a strong ally for the Inquisition,” she answered. She turned her head back to him and her bright eyes lifted to meet his. He smiled at the sight of them.

“I promised you a dance and as the music will be ending soon, I intend to keep my word.” He extended his hand to her with a slight bow. “Dance with me?”

Her gaze lowered to his hand and she hesitated. His whole body tensed as he worried she would deny him, but she raised her eyes to his and placed her bare hand in his. The air crackled about their hands as her magic reacted with his, though he could not tell if she noticed the sensation. Her smile returned as he pulled her closer and placed his other hand upon her waist. As they moved about the balcony in slow circles in tandem with the music, Solas allowed himself to think only of Lavellan and banished his worries and guilt. As he admired the way the evening light caught Lavellan’s crystalline blue eyes and the soft black spirals of hair that framed her face, the tension that knotted between his shoulders from years of regret and remorse lifted and, despite the beautiful night, he perceived only her.

He had given up any hope of meeting anyone that felt real in this terrible world he had awoken to. When his plans had fallen apart with the explosion at the Conclave, he had fallen into a insurmountable depression of hopelessness. He would be lost in this world forever with only his memories to keep him company. But Lavellan had emerged from the explosion, from the very Fade and had proven to him that he was not alone, nor was all hope lost for his people. Despite how much he resisted, he was inevitably drawn to Lavellan. He was enchanted by the idea that perhaps his original plans were flawed and that by meeting this woman he could come to a better solution, or none at all. He had never believed in fate, but he felt that their meeting had been destined. 

But she broke the spell that he had found himself in by removing herself from his grasp as the music ended. Somehow she had remembered that he had been the one to hesitate, to prevent the inevitable connection that had grown between them. She knew that he had not yet consented to fully investing into the unmistakable attraction between them. She was in control while he had been swept away with sentimentality. 

As she squeezed his hands and returned the door, her figure perfectly framed against the soft glow of candlelight emanating from inside, he pondered the possibility of losing himself to her. Could he live in bliss if he revealed his identity and shared his burden with her or would she reject him for what his mistakes had meant for the world and for their people?

He did not know if he could live with her rejection, for as she turned back toward him to gesture for him to come with her with a smile, he knew he loved her and that his heart was hers. And he was terrified for both of them.


	14. Whisper in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where I start deviating a little from the canon story and I start to build up some speculation about what the anchor can really do. Also, Cassandra is the best and I love her.
> 
> I'm updating today because tomorrow I'm leaving for a week-long vacation. I have a bluetooth keyboard to connect with my phone so maybe I'll get some writing done, maybe not. I have three completed chapters after this one and the rest is just broken up and needs to be written or put together. Hopefully I'll stay on track with once-weekly updates.
> 
> Thanks again for all the views and kudos. I love that you guys like what I've written just for fun and this project has been an excellent means for me to get out of my head for a while.

# Whisper in the Night

Halamshiral had accomplished many things for the Inquisition and Arasinya found herself in a lull as they waited for Corypheus to make his next move. Lady Morrigan returned to Skyhold with them and she brought many of her artifacts with her, as well as her son Kieran. She had many ideas regarding Corypheus and Arasinya believed her ideas had merit, but for now they knew not where Corypheus would strike next and so they waited for news.

Fortunately, she still had much to do. Other areas in Thedas needed her help and she found herself discovering new areas and lands unlike any she had ever known or imagined. She and her companions roamed the Hissing Wastes and Emprise Du Lion and other strange places with ancient secrets and people that needed saving. Her dragon skull collection grew considerably and Iron Bull was loath to leave her side as she always seemed to be slaying dragons when she wandered out of Skyhold.

She tried to find time to spend with Solas, but he had withdrawn from her after their dance at Halamshiral and she was tired of wondering why he was always hesitating, never acting. Though she still felt something for him – she could not put a label on what she felt – his attachment to her was not strong enough to let her feelings grow. Her doubt troubled her and her smiles were not as easy, her jokes and laughter slower to make an appearance. Lethargy laced her spirit and she hated herself for allowing a man to make her feel this way.

Out of all the people she expected to receive an empathetic word from, it was Cassandra who asked her if they could talk. They went to Cassandra’s favorite haunt, the second floor of the armory where their words would not be overheard due to the hammering below.

As Arasinya took a seat, Cassandra disclosed, “I noticed that you and Solas have not been spending much time together of late.”

“No, we have not,” Arasinya agreed, staring at her folded hands on the table.

“Does this trouble you?” Cassandra asked. Although her concern was genuine, this was obviously not a familiar mode of conversation for her.

“I suppose. I am more confused than anything,” Arasinya volunteered. She did not want to talk about this matter but Cassandra looked so earnest and she did not want her to think that she did not appreciate this gesture. “I think we wanted different things or perhaps I perceived something there that did not exist." The words began to spill out of her before she could stop them, "I no longer want to feel hope where there is none.”

Arasinya had always thought of Cassandra as a hardass, but one of the best hardasses around. It had not been easy to go from jailer to confidant, but Cassandra had endeared herself to Arasinya and vice-versa. Cassandra again proved that she was truly wonderful for Cassandra did not hesitate to take her hands in her own and squeeze them in comfort. Tears sprung to Arasinya’s eyes, unbidden, at the gesture and she was taken aback for she had not expected to show vulnerability to Cassandra. Cassandra, who was always her greatest advocate and a woman who she respected above all others, was comforting her when their roles had usually been reversed in the past.

“It is difficult when we do not achieve what we want in love,” Cassandra offered. “But that does not mean we should give up on it. Perhaps Solas is not the man to win your heart, but perhaps he is confused as well and does not know how to act. Have you told him how you feel?”

Arasinya smiled at their hands grasped together. She sniffled, “Perhaps not directly.”

“Then that should be your next step,” Cassandra advised. “In novels, there is always a build up to the moment a couple comes together. Their paths are fret with obstacles and troubles, but they must overcome those to achieve happiness.” She ducked her head in embarrassment. “I know those are just stories and silliness, but all stories and legends ring of truth.”

With a sniff, Arasinya returned Cassandra’s squeeze and she whispered, “Thank you.”

“I was worried for you, but it was Cole who told me I should speak to you,” Cassandra admitted, lifting her head once more. “He said that I had the right words for you. Was he correct?”

“Yes,” Arasinya replied. “You are a wonderful friend, Cassandra.”

“We are friends, aren’t we?” Cassandra marveled.

“As strange as that sounds, yes we are,” Arasinya agreed with a laugh. “And I’m glad.”

After their conversation, Arasinya felt the weight of doubt lifted from her for the first time in several weeks. In her happier state, she wandered throughout Skyhold and her attention was caught by a huge object being moved into one of the empty rooms off the garden courtyard. Morrigan was directing the moving of the object and was insistent that no one remove the cloth that covered it or peer beyond it. She screamed when the object was almost dropped by a man with slippery hands and Arasinya tried not to laugh at the sight of the woman turning red as she verbally berated the worker.

Morrigan asked Arasinya to join her when the object was finally settled in its new home and she closed the door behind them to shut out any prying eyes. When Morrigan pulled the cloth off the object, Arasinya immediately recognized the object as an Eluvian.

“How did you come across this?” She asked as she gazed up at it in wonder. The glass was dull and its reflection poor but Arasinya could feel the magic leaking from it and the mark on her hand tingled in its presence.

“I restored it at great cost,” Morrigan answered. She held her hands out the mirror and it pulsed in response. The image changed to reflect a strange place filled with bare trees. As Arasinya peered into the reflection, Morrigan continued, “You know what this is, yes?”

“An Eluvian,” Arasinya replied. “Where does it lead?”

“A most excellent question,” Morrigan smirked.

She used her magic to open the mirror and Arasinya stepped through it with Morrigan with little hesitation. Eluvians were lost to her people but she knew the basic theories about how they were supposed to work. They once connected all their lands, cities, and temples through magical channels but had been lost, as well as so many other remnants of her people’s legacy when Arlathan fell.

They entered a strange, foggy place where the Veil was weak. The Veil pressed on her as she took in the ruins, the ancient trees, and endless mirrors around them. Morrigan explained that this area was a crossroads of sorts, where all Eluvians could lead and where some had been left open, like a door. All they needed to be opened was a key.

“A key?” Arasinya asked.

“Each Eluvian is different. I have knowledge and power, oftentimes that is enough to open one,” Morrigan explained.

“This place is amazing,” Arasinya marveled. Most of the Eluvians were dark or the glass broken, but there were some that still shined and reflected. She turned back to Morrigan and asked, “Could you teach me how you open the Eluvians?”

“’Tis not something to be taken lightly,” Morrigan warned her. “Your people’s legacy is no doubt important to you, but the magic required to open an Eluvian can be very dangerous.”

“I already have the mark,” Arasinya held up her hand. The mark glowed and tingled in this place and though there were no rifts in the crossroad, both her magic and the anchor were reacting strongly to the Veil here. “Dagna said it is like a key.”

Morrigan’s eyes widened and she admitted, “I had not thought of the mark being used in such a way. ‘Tis entirely possible that the anchor could be used to open Eluvians from this side.” Morrigan shook her head in wonder. “I will investigate the matter, but not here. We must research how the anchor reacts in areas where the Veil is thin.” She marveled at the glowing mark on Arasinya’s hand, “This mark may be the key to rediscovering the secrets of your people.”

“We may need to wait until Corypheus is defeated,” Arasinya suggested as they left the crossroads via the Eluvian and entered Skyhold once more. Morrigan locked the mirror with her magic and the reflection was once again dull. “If I can recover the orb that he used to open the Breach, perhaps we can gain more insight into what the anchor is capable of.”

“You are correct,” Morrigan agreed. They left the room together and after greeting Morrigan’s son they sat down on a bench together. The strange witch smiled at Arasinya. “I think you and I are of the same mind. ‘Tis good that you are not afraid of opportunities your anchor could open for us.”

“We shall see. After all, the orb created the Breach. We cannot repeat the events of the Conclave.”

“I agree, the Breach must never happen again,” Morrigan asserted. “For now, we shall deal with Corphyeus. Once we hear news of his movements, we shall have to act. I have no doubt that he is trying to find an intact Eluvian. I only know of one in the Arbor Wilds, but ‘tis a dangerous place and well protected.”

“We should still inform Leliana. She can send her people to the area to watch for Corypheus,” Arasinya suggested.

Morrigan smirked as Arasinya stood up to leave. “I did not know what to think of you, Inquisitor, when I met you at Halamshiral,” she remarked.  Arasinya turned back to look at her. “But I do believe that you and I are going to work well together.”

 

* * *

 

He awoke from his dream in a cold-sweat. A message had come to him through the Fade. His ancient friend needed him desperately but he was unsure that he would be able to help Wisdom by himself. For several minutes he sat in his narrow bed and looked out the small window that overlooked the garden below. It was snowing outside, which meant that even if he had a plan, he would be unable to leave Skyhold until the snow was cleared. He weighed his options.

With a huff of determination Solas threw off the covers of his bed and dressed himself in his tunic and wolf pelt for warmth. He stepped out of his room and into the cold evening. His breath steamed in small puffs as he crossed to the main hall. Fortunately he had retired earlier in the evening and so there were still guests and nobles milling about in the hall, meaning that she may still be awake.

He had often dreamed about taking this route to see her by dark of night, stealing away to her room for much more enjoyable reasons than he had now. To be taking the stairs to her room in the physical world was surreal and for a brief moment he wondered if could still find some pleasure from this trip.

Immediately his mind conjured the images he so often had to subdue from rising to the surface to his mind. He imagined, like countless times before in recent memory, opening Lavellan’s door, seeing her turn as he strode toward her and planted his mouth on hers as soon as he reached her. He took her in his arms as he deepened the kiss and tangled his hands in her hair while breathing her name again and again.  

He shook his head and cleared the images, finding clarity from the momentary distraction before he knocked gently at the door.

There was no answer and he hesitated for a moment, caught between not wanting to disturb her and needing to tell someone who understood of his dilemma and who could help. Eventually he pushed in the door and climbed the steps to the room. He had never physically been in this part of Skyhold before nor had he seen a place that was solely Lavellan’s. The bed was covered with several warm layers of fine fur imported from Val Royeaux, but they were strewn about as though she had awoken from restless sleep. One corner of the room was full of books and scrolls and a desk that was covered by inkpots, quills, and half-made potions. Herbs in the process of drying were hung with care over the empty space and there were several pots of plants near the large windows. Her instruments were displayed with care before the fireplace, where two cozy chairs were placed. Between them stood a small table that held a single cup of unfinished tea.

He saw no sign of Lavellan until he realized one of the doors to the balcony was slightly ajar. He approached the window and found that she was standing in the snow, one hand extended to catch the gently falling flakes. She was dressed in silk painted robe that fell to her feet and she carried a large blanket over her shoulders. Her feet, however, were bare and pale. The setting and time were different but he was reminded of their evening in Halamshiral and the beautiful moment they had shared on a balcony far away.

Solas tapped on the glass and Lavellan turned around, startled, and dropped the snow from her hand. She came to the door and closed it behind her. He remembered how her hair had been frozen during her flight from Haven and he longed to touch the snow still clinging to her locks. He clinched his hands to prevent from touching her.

“Solas?” She asked when he did not immediately explain his reason for being in her room, alone, at night. They had barely spoken for the last several weeks due to his foolishness and shame. How could he have the audacity to approach her for help when he had spurred her company? But she was the only one who could help him and his friend.

“Lavellan, I may need to ask you a favor,” Solas confessed.

She smiled at him, which he wished she would not do, and replied, “You need only ask.” She gestured to the chairs in front of the fireplace. Solas took the seat and was grateful for the distance between them. Lavellan sat down as well, pulling her legs into the chair and curling them under her. The firelight illuminated the Vallaslin upon her face, the horns of Ghilan’nain branded across her face. He hated the sight of them, though the color of the blood writing was unique to her, most likely a side-effect of her magic.

“One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, forced into slavery,” Solas explained, taking careful pains not to let his eyes wander across Lavellan. “I heard the cry for help as I slept.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, confused by his statement but began to ask, “When your friend was captured, how did he - she …?”

“It.”

“Oh, it.”

“Yes, my friend is a spirit of Wisdom. Unlike the spirits clamoring to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It was summoned against its will, and it wants my help to regain its freedom and return to the Fade.”

Lavellan nodded and asked him some more questions about the nature of the spirit and what the mages may have wanted from it before agreeing to help him.

“Thank you,” Solas uttered, genuinely surprised and grateful that she had agreed to his request. They had been distant and he had worried that the comradery they once shared would had been stretched too thin and that one of the few people who understood his fascination with the Fade would be lost to him. He felt a great rush of happiness fill his chest that this was not the case. 

“Do you know where your friend was captured?” Lavellan asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“In the Exalted Plains. Our chance to save the spirit would be greater if we left immediately,” he replied.

“Then we shall leave tomorrow, if possible,” Lavellan promised.

With a smile of gratitude, Solas stood up and turned to leave but her voice stopped him mid-stride.

“How are your considerations coming along?” He turned back toward her. Her eyes were fixed on the fireplace, away from him and her hands were still on the chair’s armrests.

“Perhaps I will know them better once my mind has been put at ease,” Solas suggested.

“Of course.” She stood up and stood in front of the fire, her blanket draped across her shoulders and her eyes danced with light from the flames. “Know that I will always be willing to help you as a friend, Solas. But should you decide that there is nothing between us, I will be hurt and you shall never again have my trust.”

“I understand,” Solas acknowledged as he took his leave of her.

As he descended the stairs to return to his own room in the dark, he agreed with her sentiment and shame clouded his thoughts. He had been wrong to encourage the feelings between them when he had been the one who had hesitated, but falling in love with Lavellan had been too easy and he had been weak from too much loneliness. A great many things would go wrong if he allowed himself this one selfish temptation. He could turn his back on what he had held dear for far too long or he could destroy her faith in him.

His mind was troubled as he attempted to sleep once more. Worry for his friend and doubt at his resolve plagued his mind and his dreams were his only refuge. He slept fretfully and awoke well before dawn to wait for the trip ahead. With a grim satisfaction he watched the snow melt as the sun rose over Skyhold and prepared to leave.


	15. Ten Thousand Swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from vacation! I have a lot of writing to do this week so I can stay on track with weekly updates. 
> 
> This chapter starts to deviate from the canon story to build up some post-game stuff. I'll explain my reasoning for this at a later time. Just roll for it for right now or leave a comment if you have a question.

# Ten Thousand Swords

Arasinya had asked Cole and Cassandra to accompany them to find Solas’ friend that morning. Cassandra was reluctant to come along to help a spirit, but agreed that she would be best to handle the situation should the spirit have been corrupted into a demon. Naturally, she distrusted the whole enterprise but she did not speak her mind regarding spirits to Solas, for which Arasinya was grateful.

She had never seen Solas so troubled. As they traveled on their mounts to the Exalted Plains, he could barely sleep and he was pensive, much more than usual at any rate. Cole was constantly trying to repeat Solas’ thoughts but Solas would interrupt him and clear his mind so Cole could not work out what he was feeling. It was an awkward trip all around, though she made the best of it by talking to Cassandra and discussing the trashy literature that she liked in low voices.

While Arasinya did not care for the Plains as much as the Emerald Graves, she admired it as part of her history. She often wondered how many of her people lay in unmarked graves, killed by the Chantry during their Exalted March. To look at the rolling hills and sheer cliffs untouched by the civil war, one might mistake the Plains for a peaceful place.

As they approached the river near where Solas had sensed his friend had been enslaved, they came across several burnt and dismembered bodies. Something was wrong and Solas began to shake his head as they crested the hill. Before them in a clearing by the river a pride demon knelt in a summoning circle and was bound by lyrium crystals. It moaned in anguish.  

“My friend,” he uttered.

“The mages turned your friend into a demon,” Arasinya observed.

“Yes,” Solas growled. She turned to him, startled, to see the anger that Solas was experiencing.

“But it’s supposed to be a spirit of wisdom, not a fighter.”

“A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose,” Solas snarled.  

“So they have corrupted it by turning it against its purpose, to fight,” Arasinya lamented.

“Let us ask them,” Solas muttered as a group of frightened human mages approached them.

“Oh, you’re not bandits, you’re mages.” The mage sighed in relief. “Do you happen to have any lyrium potions? We’ve exhausted our supply fighting the demon.”

“You summoned the demon,” Solas accused the mage. “Only it was a spirit of wisdom at the time. You made it kill. You twisted it against its purpose!”

The mage backed up and stuttered, “I-I understand how it might look to someone who has not studied demons but -- “

“You need to be quiet,” Arasinya ordered. “You know nothing of spirits and demons compared to this man.”

“Excuse me, but I was a leading expert in the Circle of Kirkwall – “

“Shut up,” Solas iterated.  “You summoned it to protect you from the bandits.” The mage reluctantly admitted that this was the case. “You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. _That_ is when it turned.”

Arasinya looked over the scene. The spirit, now a demon, sat in the center of a binding circle that the mages had created. The barriers of the circle were marked by crystals of lyrium. She had seen a similar ritual in the books that Dorian had shown her in the Skyhold library.

“Would disrupting the summoning circle break the binding upon it?” she asked, pointing her staff at the crystals.

“It’s possible. If we break the summoning circle, we break the binding,” Solas agreed. “No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

“The binding is the only thing keeping it from killing us!” The mage protested. “Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!”

“I have to agree with him,” Cassandra cut in, her eyes narrowed at the mage. “Though I disapprove of what these mages have done, we must destroy the demon while it is bound.”

“Lavellan, please,” Solas pleaded.

The desperation on Solas’ face pulled on her heart despite the wisdom of Cassandra’s words. How long he must have been alone with no one to confide in as he traveled as an apostate. Driven from Dalish camps and more than likely from alienages as well. He called spirits his friends when he had no others in this world. She could not kill one of his friends if it had a chance at redemption, even if it posed a threat to all of them. 

“I’ve studied rituals like this, I can disrupt the bindings,” Arasinya remarked.

“Thank you,” Solas sighed.

As Cassandra’s eyes narrowed eyes turned to her Arasinya protested, “Do not make that noise that you make whenever Varric has done something to annoy you. It would not be fair to Varric.”

Cassandra smiled at Arasinya though she still looked ready to make her disgusted noise. She settled for rolling her eyes instead and offering to draw the demon’s attention while the rest of them destroyed the summoning circle.

“If this goes wrong, feel free to tell me, ‘I told you so’ as you beat me senseless,” Arasinya whispered to Cassandra who agreed to the offer.

“I’m glad we’re helping,” Cole declared as they approached the demon.

The fight did not last long. Arasinya, Solas, and Cole made quick work of the lyrium crystals surrounding the summoning circle as Cassandra kept its strikes off of them. As soon as the circle was broken, the demon reverted to its original form. Its shape was that of a woman but she was transparent and her eyes glowed with the green light of the Fade. It fell to the riverbed in pain as Solas rushed to its side and kneeled before the spirit.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Solas apologized in Elvhen.

“ _I’m not. I’m happy. I’m me again_.” The spirit replied in Elvhen. Its voice echoed in the physical world as though it spoke from far away. “ _You helped me. Now you must endure. Guide me into death_.”

Although Arasinya stayed back as Solas and the spirit conversed, she despaired at the loss on Solas’ face as the spirit made its request. Cole tried to step forward to help but Arasinya stopped him with a gentle hand. “He needs to do this alone,” she told Cole.

“But he hurts and so does it,” Cole protested. At her persistence he remained still though he was unhappy to do so.

Solas muttered his acquiesce, “ _As you say_.” He held his hands out to the spirit and it disintegrated into the wind like leaves. As flecks of its being were carried away, he bid the spirit farewell and lowered his head.

With a gesture to Cole to stay still, Arasinya treaded across the broken summoning circle to the riverbed where Solas mourned. Her feet sank into the wet sand as she kneeled next to Solas, the cold water bringing gooseflesh to her skin. He would not look at her but neither did he stop her from taking his hand and squeezing it.

“It was right, you did help it,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Now I must endure,” he echoed, his voice laced with sorrow.

“Let me help you,” Arasinya implored. She wanted to reach out, to touch his face and ease the sadness from it, but she kept her hand firmly by her side though she ached to do so. “You do not have to bear this alone.”

“You already have,” Solas replied. “Now all that remains is to deal with them.” He removed his hand from hers and stood up as the mages returned to the circle. They had run off as soon as Arasinya had begun attacking the barriers and they now returned once the demon was gone. Arasinya stood up as well while the mages were expressing their gratitude for removing the demon and explaining their desperation for attempting a summoning. Solas was livid at their excuses.

“You tortured and killed my friend!” Solas exclaimed. He left Arasinya’s side and stormed toward them, rage and indignation quivering through his body.

“We didn’t know it was just a spirit!” One of the mages protested, backing away from Solas with the others. “The book said it could help us!”

Both of Solas’ hands were gathering magic from the Fade to destroy the mages. These mages did not deserve to live, but neither did Solas’ conscious deserve their worthless lives on his conscience. Just as he raised his hands to reign down his magic upon the mages, Arasinya ran forward and stood before him.

“Move, Inquisitor,” Solas ordered. The magic crackled in his hands and she felt it move across her skin, making her hair rise with its energy.

“Do not sully your honor with them, Solas,” she remonstrated, her hands held before her in defense. “I will see that they receive the justice they have earned.”

“They deserve death for murdering my friend,” Solas demanded. Although he argued with her, his hands emptied of magic and Arasinya slowly lowered her hands as well. When she did not move out of his way but continued to stand in front of him without so much as a flinch, he turned away from her and marched out of the circle. “I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold,” he muttered as he passed her.

Once he was out of sight, Arasinya focused her attention on the mages who looked to her as a savior. She shook her head at them and her magic melted the ground below them and their feet were sucked into the earth so that they could not move.

“Are _you_ going to kill us?” The female mage asked as her companions failed to escape from her magic.

“No,” Arasinya replied shortly. She could sense that the Veil was thin in this area due to the recent spirit summoning. The connections between this world and the Fade were clear to her and before her were three openings, one in each of the mages. An idea occurred to her and she remembered her conversation with Morrigan regarding experimentation with the Veil, of opening and closing. She had never seen the process of turning a mage tranquil and it was not her intention to rip them from the Fade, but only to decrease their access to it. As her intent became solidified in her mind, her mark reacted to her and glowed green.

“What are you going to do, Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked. “These mages have committed blood magic by summoning a demon. We should make them tranquil or kill them.”

“Please don’t make us tranquil!” One of the mages begged.

“I have an idea,” Arasinya told Cassandra. “The Veil is thin here and I can feel their connections to the Fade. I want to close them to remove their magic, but not cut them off from the Fade completely.”

“That could work,” Cole agreed with a nod.

“But how could you do that?” Cassandra asked, her eyes widening with surprise.

“The mark,” Arasinya replied as she turned back to the mages. “It is a key. And a key can lock and unlock.”

It was surprising simple to take hold of the mages’ connection to the Fade with her mark. It was like closing a rift but delicate and less intuitive. Her mark gripped the openings to the Fade within the mages’ bodies and she closed them to a pinpoint.

“What did you do?” The female mage asked as Arasinya let the mages go from their confinement in the earth.

“I took away what made you a mage,” she replied. “You abused your magic and therefore you have lost your gift.”

“But … I still feel like me,” one of the mages protested. “I still feel fear.”

“You’re not tranquil,” Arasinya explained. “But you will never use your magic again.”

Her mouth opened in awe, Cassandra approached Arasinya and took hold of her wrist to better look at the mark. “Is this true? You can take away magic without making someone tranquil?”

“I believe so, but only if the connection is weak to begin with and only where the Veil is thin, and already what I’ve done here has strengthened it,” Arasinya replied as she looked on at her hand as well. “I could not do this to a powerful mage where the Veil was whole.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at Arasinya, suspicious of this newfound power. “It is a good thing that I know you would not use this ability for ill, for if you can close the Veil at will, you can also open it as you did in Adamant and enter the Fade,” she slowly remarked as she lowered Arasinya’s hand.

“And risk turning into Corpyheus?” Arasinya laughed. “I have no desire for such power. Nor do I wish to become a darkspawn.”

“The mark has made you stronger, no one can doubt that, but such power is tempting, even for someone like you,” Cassandra reprimanded.

“Then I must trust in my friends to keep me grounded in humility,” Arasinya agreed with a smile as she patted her friend’s shoulder.

“You are like the Fade,” Cole added. “The more you use your mark, the stronger your connection is.” Cole poked at the mark and then commented, “Solas does not wish for us to follow him.”

“I did not think he would,” Arasinya sighed. She turned to Cassandra once more and bowed her head in apology, “I’m sorry if I upset you by helping the spirit, but I believe it was the right thing to do.”

“We do not often agree, Inquisitor,” Cassandra replied. “But I trust your judgment and in this case you may have done the just thing. Besides, we would not have discovered this new ability of yours had we killed the demon.”

“For now, I do not think anyone else should know of this new development,” Arasinya cautioned. “We do not know if there are any side effects.”

“You don’t know?” A mage exclaimed. “You tried experimental magic on us and we’re the ones who get our magic taken away?”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” Arasinya retorted. “I could have easily let my friend kill you for he was perfectly willing to end your miserable lives.”

“But we don’t have magic! We’re defenseless!”

Arasinya held her hands up, gesturing to the land and sky around them. “Welcome to life outside the Circle! I suggest you take some of the weapons off those bandits and learn to use them. I think I hear wolves howling, pray that they have already fed.

“We’re leaving,” she informed Cassandra and Cole. She turned on her heel and did not address the mages as they yelled at her retreating back. They returned to their mounts, which they had left nearby, and Arasinya observed that the Hart that Solas had ridden was still tethered. They moved swiftly once mounted, the Hart with no rider following alongside them. She was not certain if she had done the right thing, but she wanted to test the limits of her mark. It was permanent and she must learn what it is capable of and its proper use. If it truly was a side effect of the orb Corypheus carried, then it must hold some secret for what the orb could be used to achieve.

Though Arasinya did not pray to the Creators, around the campfire that they made that night she did hope that the spirit of Wisdom had found peace. She asked Cole about spirits of Wisdom and their nature, but he did not understand them well as their purpose was so very different from his own. She went to bed curious about the spirit and worried for Solas, whom they had seen no trace of since leaving the Plains. Once asleep, she had entered the Fade and explored the area to determine what was around her. Everything was normal save the appearance of an Elven woman.

She puzzled at the woman who appeared to be made of light, for she had never encountered anything like her in the Fade before. Worried that the woman may be a demon, Arasinya stirred clear of it but the woman followed her. When it became evident to Arasinya that the woman was not going to leave her side, she turned toward it and approached it.

“What are you?” She asked the woman. “Why are you following me?”

“I am Determination,” the woman answered. Up close, Arasinya could see that the woman wore long battle robes and her hair was pleated in intricate braids around her head. “And I follow you because you are my ward.”

“You’re a spirit?” Arasinya queried.

“Yes.”

“And did you call me your ward?”

“I have guarded you for some time, since you were a child,” the spirit answered.

“Since I was a child? But I have never seen you.”

She circled around Arasinya and continued, “When you were a child, you almost died. As you lay dying, your magic raged against your fate and it was enough to attract my attention in the Fade. I came to you and I aided you for I admired your determination to live. You embody everything I am.”

“You saved me?” Arasinya whispered. “You – I never understood how I survived the attack. I was so young, newly into my magic. I was incapable of such power. It was you.”

“Your determination to live brought me to you; do not discredit your own actions,” the spirit corrected her.

“And you stayed with me, why?”

“Long ago, before the Veil was made, spirits were people and often reflected the world around them,” the spirit stopped its circling and stood before Arasinya. “I was formed long ago during the fall of Elvhenan. Your people were filled with purpose to live, determination to save Arlathan. I was born of that time and I remained. As far as the elves have fallen, they have held on to their freedom and what little of their heritage that endures. You are a result of that determination and I see in you the same ferocity, intelligence, and resolve that first created me. We are kindred souls.”

Arasinya pondered what the spirit said and recalled what Solas had once said to her a long time ago in Haven, about spirits being people despite lacking physical forms. He must have been referring to spirits like this one that had a memory of its history and formation. The elven spirit smiled, as though she knew her thoughts.

“I am proud of what you have become and I am ever drawn to your determination to live and to succeed,” the spirit proclaimed. “That is why I follow you.”

“I’m honored, thank you,” Arasinya replied though she was unsure if honored was what she should feel. “But why now? Why have you revealed yourself?”

“You helped one of my own. Spirits of Wisdom are rare, for few pursue knowledge selflessly, and it was one of the last. You helped free Wisdom, in the end, when it would have been easier to destroy her. You have also proven yourself several times over,” the spirit commended. “Many spirits watch your progress through the physical world, pleased with your actions and choices. However, I wished to introduce myself to you first, as I am most invested in you.”

“First?”

The spirit smiled at her and Arasinya knew this spirit would never cause her harm. She was ancient and had no desire to interact with the modern physical world. The spirit answered, “I have kept other spirits at a distance for most of your life to protect you from temptation or possession because you are a desirable vessel, but I will now allow them to meet you. You are strong enough that you will never be tempted by what they offer.”

The spirit extended her hand to Arasinya and she took it without hesitation. Together they walked through the Fade and for the first time Arasinya walked with spirits. They clamored to meet her and everywhere she looked, someone was trying to draw her attention and show her something interesting. Most of the spirits were benevolent, but there were others that kept their distance, watching for an opportune moment to approach her. Arasinya recognized these spirits as Pride and Desire and though they drew close at times, their whispers could not sway her. True to Determination's words, nothing here could tempt her and she joyfully asked her questions and marveled at all she had missed. 


	16. Absence of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter, however next week's update will be almost 6,000 words long and will also finally have some steamy action. So there's that to look forward to.
> 
> I'm still behind on my writing because my chapters have become much longer. I may need to start putting two weeks between updates. We'll see.

# Absence of Light

Elves were not meant to be alone. He had forgotten this fact after his time with the Inquisition, but now the lesson burned in his mind and heart. Humans could exist by themselves and survive, but Elves perished. Even after the fall of Arlathan and later the Dales, Elves lived in communities with their own kind. The Dalish traveled in clans all their lives and even the alienages had strong community ties. They survived by staying together.

How long had he been alone in this strange world?

Solas wandered across the Exalted Plains and Emerald Graves, walking the ancient paths that only he knew. Once he was deep in the forests, he sought refuge in the Fade. He found the place where he had met the spirit of Wisdom years ago and waited. No one ever came for him. His friends were gone, everything from before was gone, and he could not undo his actions without great consequence. He did not know what he needed to do anymore. He had grown fond of this world, could he bear life without it? 

In the waking world, winter was slowly leaving the land, but in its place freezing rain and sleet were the norm until spring reigned once more. He watched the earth freeze and thaw with the rain and turn to mud in the brief spells of sunlight. Fire was his only solace from the cold as he dared not venture into the ruins for shelter without support for monsters may lurk in the darkness of the ancient buildings.

His finger trailed the teeth along the jawbone that hung from his neck as he shivered outside in the mud. It reminded him of what he was, of the power that he had held. So much had been lost and he had become so weak compared to what he once was. If he could undo what he had done knowing what would happen, would he? He could not decide. 

He knew he should return to the Inquisition – it was his salvation and the best means for him to resume to his original design, but Lavellan had become his downfall and made him doubt his intentions. Everything he had worked for could be lost with her. He wondered how she could feel so familiar in a world alien to him. He held on to the idea that perhaps the anchor had bestowed her with a touch of the ancient making her more like him, elsewise he could not determine how she existed in this world. Where he felt weak, broken, and – dare he admit it – old, she grew ever more powerful, both in body, mind, magic, and status because of the anchor. With her he felt younger, stronger, and relevant in this world of Chantries and the Maker, where magic was vilified and knowledge lost and the people like Tranquil everywhere he went. 

To have his heart’s desire or repent for his greatest mistake – how had he let himself be faced with this choice?

The spirit of Wisdom had been one of his oldest friends. It spoke to him in his language of long forgotten things and history lost to time. He felt a similarity, a return to what had been lost when they had spoken. He had remembered who he truly was. Never again would he converse with it in ancient Elvhen or remember the time before humans, when his people had been immortal and magic as common as breathing. Now they were weak and mortal, squatting in forests spreading lies or living in the slums of human cities in squalor knowing nothing. This was his legacy.

He had no one. And alone, he would surely fail his people.

For three days he barely ate as he wandered adrift in his grief. The rain beat down upon him and chilled him to the bone causing violent shivers to wrack his body. In the mossy grove of trees that marked the graves of the Emerald Knights, he finally collapsed from weariness.

He lay there for hours, unmoving and studying the moss he lay on and the far off trees and stones. He fell in and out of sleep, his dreams offering no comfort. He tried to dream of Lavellan but she was far away and his memories of her did no justice to the real woman. His visions were pale and weak, the light in her eyes dim and the smell of thistle feeble.

The sun offered a brief respite from the rain and he listened to the sound of water falling from the leaves and to the ground. He did not notice the halla approach for its hooves made no sound on the wet moss, but its nose sniffling in his ears did cause him to look up in alarm.

He met its black eyes and it tilted its white head in curiosity at Solas. It might have been domesticated due to its calm nature but he saw no sign that it belonged to a Dalish clan. After staring at Solas for several long moments, the halla lowered its head and chewed on the moss next to his head. Solas had been deemed a non-threat. He chuckled at the irony.

Halla. They had not changed during his long slumber. He remembered being amused that Arasinya’s name meant ‘ _little deer_ ’ and that she wore the marks of Ghilan’nain, mother of the halla, when he met her. How odd that her name stood for one of the few legacies of Elves that had survived. Her accessibility, her familiarity, her conviction – it was what had drawn him to her as a friend and had later transformed his affection into love. That he understood her and that she did likewise for him without reserve - that was the comfort he found in her. Like the halla, Arasinya was the result of his people’s propensity to survive no matter what the conditions. Perhaps, if someone like her could exist in this strange world, there was hope for him and hope for the other Elves as well. She was real. 

When he stood up, the halla backed away from him though it did not run. It followed him at a distance as he hunted for food, using his magic to trap hares that were too slow to flee him as he approached. He built a fire from fallen tree limbs and ate what he had captured as well as some plants he had found. In the evening, nearby wolves brought him offerings of meat and he accepted their gifts.

He would return to Skyhold. He was still stricken by grief, but the Inquisition was the only means he had of regaining his orb and determining what step to take next. He was no longer sure what the right course was, but he knew that he needed to apologize to the woman he loved. 


	17. Touch Me With Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the NSFW chapter. It's very long (over 6k words!) so I hope you guys enjoy. 
> 
> Since this chapter and the next one are so long, I will be updating in TWO WEEKS instead of one. I'm very behind because I got distracted by editing earlier chapters and a Cullen x Trevelyan fic I want to write next. Maybe an Alistair x Warden one too. Way too much.
> 
> As always, if you see any typos or have some feedback, please leave me a comment! Also, visit my Tumblr for goofy Dragon Age stuff: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bythederpwolf

# Touch Me with Fire

It rained all week at Skyhold, which meant that there was little to be done outside war room meetings and wandering about aimlessly. For most of the week Arasinya spent her time napping in odd corners of the fortress during the day between studying in the library, tending the garden, and making potions in her room. On one eventful day she found herself in the barn helping Master Dennet deliver Mabari puppies. She had helped deliver several nieces and nephews so when Dennet had come to her asking for a volunteer to help with the delivery, she had immediately offered her services. He had insisted that she keep one puppy as thanks for delivering ten healthy babies without any fuss and she gifted it to Cole to give him something to love. As a result, Cole became a permanent fixture at the barn as he watched his puppy nap and eat. He named the dog Ser Waggles at her suggestion and was completely enamored.

At night, she would join the others at the tavern to play cards and work on improving her alcohol tolerance. One night while playing Wicked Grace Cullen was stripped naked from his loses while Josephine and Arasinya took turns wearing his cloak and preening about the tavern. Another evening, Cassandra had to leave the table before she was sick after Sera’s raunchy tale of a sexual exploit with a one-eyed dwarven lass named Thumper. Often the losers of their games were subject to ridiculous dares that were written upon slips of paper and then drawn out of Cole’s hat.

“It says ‘Do a barrel roll!’” Iron Bull read as Arasinya lost on the sixth night and was forced to take a dare.

“You want me to roll a barrel across the floor? What’s the point?” Arasinya laughed, unsure if this was a Shemlen custom she should be aware of.

“No, it’s a thing – it’s,” Iron Bull struggled to find the right words and waved his arms around. “You know, you jump up and then you go _whoosh_! Barrel. Roll.”

They argued back and forth until Arasinya agreed to do a backflip, which no one believed she could do. She would have been one of the doubters as well if were not for her Knight Enchanter training which had returned her to the physical prowess of her younger years. The tavern patrons cleared an area for her to stand and after several deep breaths Arasinya performed a standing backflip. Her landing was terrible and she almost stumbled backwards and shattered her head, but the tavern exploded in applause and shouts. She held her hands out to the crowd and took in their praise.

After the evening had calmed she found herself by the fire with Sera, Varric, and Blackwall. They were taking turns telling stories, passing a flask about as they relaxed next to the warmth.

“So Inquisitor,” Varric said after he had finished a story about his many adventures with Hawke, “I’ve been meaning to ask, what ever happened to Chuckles? The Kid said that he wanted to be left alone and the Seeker won’t tell me anything, surprising I know, and you haven’t said anything at all.”

“He left when we couldn’t save his friend,” Arasinya replied. “His friend was a spirit, so I won’t go into details.” She bobbed her head toward Sera who smiled with approval. “But it upset him deeply.”

“He was friends with a spirit?” Blackwall asked incredulously. As Arasinya nodded he muttered, “That’s strange, that is.”

“Sorry Sexitor, I know you liked him but I’m glad he’s gone,” Sera confessed. “Always trying to speak to me with those dumb Elfy-Elf words and asking about how I felt about the Breach. Good riddance.”

“I know you don’t like him, that’s alright, I don’t like all of my companions either,” Arasinya replied, her tone magnanimous.

“Vivienne,” Blackwall coughed.

“I would never entertain disdainful thoughts of any of my friends,” Arasinya promised with a wink.

“I bet you a drink he returns,” Varric proposed to the group. They accepted and continued until Josephine suggested another round of cards, to which everyone declined. Josie was far too good at Wicked Grace and was a sore-winner.

The next day, the rain finally stopped. The ground in Skyhold had turned to mud and the soldiers that practiced in the yard were splattered with it and tracking it throughout the fortress. Josephine, close to tears at the mess, ordered that no one come inside without taking their shoes off first and stripping off their dirty clothing, which resulted in the nobles being aghast at the sight of half-naked soldiers running about in bare feet and smallclothes.

Arasinya spent the morning practicing her Fade Step in tandem with a practice sword. With Cassandra as her sparring partner, Arasinya was able to practice getting behind her enemy’s defense and striking from behind. Cassandra was by far a much better than Arasinya at fighting physically and more often than not Arasinya found herself knocked to the ground by Cassandra’s shield with the wind knocked out of her, but she had become faster and stronger than she had been in years. Muscles she had forgotten she’d had now rippled beneath her skin and her body felt lithe but robust as she struck at Cassandra.

After the sixth time being knocked down, Arasinya struggled to extract herself from the mud and she rubbed her battered rump as she told Cassandra she had enough for one day. Cassandra let her go and Arasinya carefully maneuvered down the muddy stairs to the lower level of Skyhold to visit Cole and his puppy in the barn. They sat on the hay together as Cole spent several minutes marveling about Ser Waggles’ hungry thoughts and Arasinya smiled at his rambling. He asked if it was normal that he wanted to hold the puppy constantly and kiss it.

“When you love someone, physical affection is normal,” Arasinya replied as the puppy suckled on Cole’s finger. Out of all the decisions she had made as Inquisitor, giving Cole a Mabari puppy had been her favorite thus far.

“That sounds strange, but I think you’re right. I want to protect him and I would give my life for his,” Cole agreed. He carefully stroked the puppy’s head and smiled as the puppy yipped at him. “I thought love meant that you had to remove pain, but maybe it’s more than that.”

“Love can mean a lot of things,” Arasinya agreed.

“Like what?” Cole asked, his pale blue eyes lifted to hers in curiosity.

“Oh, Cole,” Arasinya sighed. “I’m afraid there’s no good way to answer that question. To each his own.”

Cole descended into silence once more as he looked at his puppy and coddled him. Then he suddenly lifted his head and blurted, “Solas has come back. He’s very sad, but relieved to be back at Skyhold, I think.”

“Damn, I owe Varric a drink,” Arasinya muttered.

“You’re angry with him, but you’re glad he’s returned," Cole pointed out.

“True,” she admitted. She stood up and tried to brush off the straw that had adhered to her practice armor with little success. “I suppose I should go see if he’s alright. Is he close by? Is he amenable to talking right now?”

“I think so. It’s harder to tell since I am less like a spirit now,” Cole explained.

Arasinya thanked Cole for his information and calmed herself as she left the barn. Her heart palpitated as she crossed the muddy courtyard and she fretted over the muck she was covered in, but she threw her shoulders back and held her head high as she walked toward the gate to wait for him. She was the Inquisitor and Solas was her ally; it was important that she greet him upon his return. 

She did not have to wait long for him and she immediately deflated when she saw Solas enter the courtyard. He was filthy and thin, and his expression was more exhausted than she had ever seen him. It took all her willpower to stand back as he approached her, to keep her arms by her side instead of throwing them around him in an embrace to comfort him. She had missed him deeply and she had not known how much until the moment he stopped before her and looked down at her.

“Inquisitor,” he greeted her. His voice was hollow and as tired as he appeared to be.

“How are you, Solas?” She asked.

His eyes left her face and he gazed at the ground for a moment before they rose again. “It hurts. It always does, but I will survive.”

“To be honest, I did not know if you were going to return,” Arasinya admitted. As an afterthought she added, “I’m glad you are back.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now.” He lowered his eyes once more and Arasinya’s resolve broke at his heartache. She stepped toward him and gently grasped his forearms, causing him to look up in surprise.

“Solas, you do not have to bear this alone,” Arasinya whispered. She mentally pleaded with him to trust her, to confide in her, to do anything to lessen his pain.

“It’s been so long since I could trust someone, lethallan,” Solas confessed.

“I know.”

“May we speak again in private?” Solas requested. “After I have had a chance to rest?”

“Of course,” she agreed instantaneously and she pulled away from him. “I need to clean up anyway,” she explained as she held up her muddy braid.

A ghost of a smile passed over Solas’ face as he thanked her and made his way back up to Skyhold’s main courtyard. Arasinya watched as he left, though he was soon stopped by Cole, who had waited until they had finished speaking to run out of the barn with his puppy carefully bundled in his arms. Arasinya grinned as Cole introduced Solas to his new friend and Solas carefully pet Ser Waggles. Cole’s enthusiasm for the dog and his happiness to see Solas brought another small smile to the latter’s face.

She climbed through Skyhold back to her room to gather a robe and her bath necessities. Underneath Skyhold were hot springs that warmed the fortress so that vegetation could grow and keep the cold out. They had been discovered on one of the early excursions underneath Skyhold and had been turned into baths for the Inquisition after some renovation. The springs were separated by rock walls and so different caves had been designated for women and men and some had been made private for nobles. Only the Inquisitor had her own bath, though it was very small in comparison to the others, but it offered the most privacy.

After gathering her things, she descended into Skyhold using the servant’s entrance next to her steps and entered her private bath. Some work had been done to the spring: a door had been added for privacy, the bottom of the spring had been tiled save for where the water entered and exited, and sconces for lights had been placed around the spring as well as candles by its edge. She lit the candles, stripped out of her armor, and unbraided her hair before stepping into the almost scalding water.

She soaked for most of the afternoon, letting the water melt away her aches and bruises. She used copious amounts of the thistle and lavender concoction she had made for her thick hair to remove the tangles and mud and scrubbed herself raw. She almost fell asleep, but she had slipped underwater while bathing here enough times to stop herself before lulling off to prevent a spat of dry-heaving and coughing. She pinched herself awake and dressed in a robe before returning to her room.

Having returned to her room and wrapped a fur blanket around her shoulders, Arasinya spent the better part of an hour combing through her hair without magic next to the fireplace. At times like these where her scalp ached from removing her hair’s tangles, she wished she would cut her hair off and avoid all the brushing it required. But her mother had always loved her long hair and had combed and brushed it until it shined whenever they found time for bathing. Even after her mother’s death several years ago, Arasinya kept her hair long to honor her mother's memory. 

After finishing with her hair, Arasinya approached her wardrobe which was filled with dresses and outfits she would have never worn had she never left her clan. After Halamshiral and the amazing impact her dress had had upon the court’s fashion, Josephine had ordered several new Elven-inspired outfits for her from eccentric designers eager to use the Inquisitor as their model and to push new _avant-garde_ fashion. One of the dresses Josephine had ordered for her everyday use caught her eye as she searched for clean clothing for dinner and she pulled the garment over her head and fastened its silver clasps. It was a long-sleeved, midnight blue dress with a low v-neck and simple collar. Although made by humans, it was unlike anything that a human would wear with today’s fashions – upon the sleeves and collar was embroidery that resembled halla horns and the dress required no corset. She pinned her hair in a sloppy bun and after a quick glance in the mirror, left her room for dinner.

Her breakfasts and lunches were her own to dictate, but dinners were held in the main hall with the noble guests that stayed with them. It was strange to her to walk among humans who were considered important outside of Skyhold, but who fawned over Arasinya’s every movement and gesture when she was among them. Though she had been in the company of Shemlen for quite some time, she still found it odd that she was held in such reverence and that the only other of her kind she ever saw were usually servants. Josephine had gone to great lengths to hire human servants to balance out the number of Elves, but Arasinya still noticed that Elves vastly outnumbered the human servants. Unless Arasinya’s friends were present for dinner she never stayed for very long and this evening her friends had retired to the tavern for dinner save for Vivienne, whom Arasinya could only stand for so long before wanting to smash her head against a wall for the human’s backwards notions about mages.

After dinner she returned to her rooms briefly to don a cloak and walk along the battlements to watch the sun set. Her clan had often spent this time of the day relaxing after a long day of hunting and gathering and they prayed to their gods for the bounty they had provided, however small. When the sun dipped below one of Skyhold’s towers, she retreated to her room to better see the sunset from its superior height. She returned to the main hall and passed the remaining supping nobles and opened the door to her private staircase only to find Solas sitting on the steps to her room.

In the hours since she had seen him last he had cleaned up and changed clothes. While he still appeared to be weary, his color was healthier and his glance sharp as he looked up at her. Once he had risen and stood before her, he asked, “May we speak?”

Without a word she gestured toward the stairs and they climbed them together. He went before her and she could not help but enjoy the view. She bit down on her lip to keep from grinning as she happened to be staring at her favorite physical feature upon his body. On the landing, Arasinya was relieved to see that a servant had been by to tidy-up her room and turn down the bed but Solas passed it all without a glance and opened the door to the balcony. With a shrug for her own benefit, she followed.

The sun was still dipping below the skyline and the height of the tower allowed them a fantastic view of the golden light highlighting the crags and peaks of the surrounding snow-capped mountains. The sky had turned into tapestry of yellow, orange, and purple, and the clouds reminded her of blue paint strokes. She leaned her bottom against the balcony and admired the view. Next to her Solas gripped the railing and barely glanced at the sky, lost in his thoughts. She turned her head away to watch the sunset and waited for him to speak.

“What were you like before the anchor?” Solas croaked after several minutes of silence.

When she looked back at him he was watching her carefully though his stance was still rigid, coiled. She pondered the question and replied, “I suppose I was more naïve then. I had seen little of the world. And my magic was weaker.”

“No, has it affected you? Changed you in any way?” His hands released the railing and they grasped the empty air just as he grasped for the right words, “Your mind, your morals, your … spirit?”

She turned her body toward him and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know, Solas. How would I know if I had changed? I feel the same.”

“That is an excellent point,” Solas sighed and looked away from her once more.

“What’s this really about, Solas? Why are you asking about my spirit?”

“You show a wisdom I have not seen since,” Solas hesitated as he looked back up at her and locked his eyes with hers, “since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. I wondered if you had been affected when the anchor marked you. You have never been what I expected.”

“Have I disappointed you?” She asked, her eyebrows knitted together in worry.

“You never disappointed -” he blurted and paused, swallowing. He carefully continued, “Most people are predictable and you are not. When I met you, I expected you to be like other Dalish I had encountered – haughty, ignorant, and closed-minded.” He took a step toward her, all the while keeping his eyes upon her and she felt herself flush at his intensity. “I never expected to meet someone like you. You are intelligent, compassionate, and unlike anyone I have ever encountered and you make me question convictions that I have held for longer than I care to admit.”

“Solas, I-”Arasinya began to apologize but he cut her off with a shake of his head as he took yet another step. She looked up into his face and her heart beat rapidly as she tried to squash the hope rising in her breast.

“You have been perfect where I have been wretched and I do not deserve your affection,” Solas admitted. “But know that not one day has passed since our time in the Fade that I have not wished to embrace you once more.”

“Oh,” she breathed in response. They were close now, and she could study every scar, line, and freckle on his face but his eyes held her. An oncoming storm indeed and she was sailing directly into it. Quietly, she asked, “Why did you wait so long to tell me this?”

“I wanted to be kind. It would be kinder in the long run if nothing happens between us,” he muttered as he turned away from her. She reached out to bring him back and he complied; for once he did not spur her advances and faced her. He raised a trembling hand and cupped her cheek, drawing her closer. Her eyes closed, her senses overwhelmed by the simple gesture. “But losing you would -”

He never finished his thought for he had already drawn her to him and stopped his words with her mouth. As real as their kiss in the Fade had felt, to be physically held by him and drinking in his touch, his smell, his taste – it was ecstasy. His arm curled around her waist as he closed the distance between them and the hand on her cheek slid past her ear and rested behind her head. The whisper of his hands across her ears elicited gentle trembles throughout her body. His fingers slipped through her hair and she sighed against his mouth in pleasure. She had never experienced such passion in a kiss, had never felt anything like she belonged so completely with another person. Their bodies and their souls intertwined in that precious moment and there was nothing else in this world she wanted.

She did not know how long they stood together in their embrace but when they parted it was too soon. As he pulled away she kept her hands on his arms, keeping him still. Would he leave again? How could he after what they had just experienced? Never had she felt so much because of one person; her heart threatened to sail out of her chest. Whatever reservations he had, he must know that there existed a connection between them that transcended his doubts. They were meant for one another and she had never believed in anything more.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, terrified that he would break her heart. Her chest ached with a terrible mixture of longing and fear, her limbs threatened to tremble.

He smiled at her and she dared to hope. “How could I?” He asked with a chuckle as he brushed her lips with his thumb. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

 _I love you, my heart_. The words echoed through her mind and their reverberations merged into a song that rang through her body and magic as she brought her lips to his once more.

Arasinya had cared for him for so long. They had been friends, kindred souls, and yet so much more. Although she knew little of his past, she knew his spirit and it encompassed her. She wanted all of him and she made her desire known by parting his mouth with her tongue. Solas responded in earnest and tilted his head to better accommodate her as his arms encircled her. He pressed his hands to her upper and lower back and the fervor of his affection made her knees weak.

Their bodies were flushed against one another and Arasinya could not mistake their lust. Blood and heat swelled in her groin and she would not deny either of them of this need. She halted her study of his mouth slowly, drawing his attention away from her and into the present. He blinked at her, his eyes hazy, and she was satisfied to see how he wished to be close to her once more.

She glanced at the bedroom full of Shemlen furniture and looked back to him. The bedroom would suffice later, once they knew one another's bodies, but she had never made love under a ceiling surrounded by luxury. Their first night together must be away from this place, where she felt one with herself. “Not here, not this time,” she whispered.

He understood and concurred. “I know a place,” he offered. He extended his hand to her and she locked her fingers with his, allowing him to guide her back into the room and down the steps. As they reached the main hall, Arasinya suggested taking the servant’s route to avoid the nobles and possibly being stopped. He agreed and they took a small door into the servants’ corridors. Fortunately, they were mostly empty due to the servants working in the kitchens and so no one saw them as they descended into the cellars of Skyhold. Working together, they found their way deep into Skyhold’s tunnels where Arasinya had never explored save for her trips to the springs. They passed the hot springs at the bottom of several flights of stairs and Solas led her through a barely visible crevice in the stone that she had never noticed before. The path was narrow, slippery with water, and pitch black. Her hands clutched the back of Solas’ rough-hewn tunic as he led the way. He seemed sure of his footing and his hand trailed the wall as the moved along the tunnel.

Just as the path widened, the darkness was pierced by the rising of the moon through a cascade of water. The path had led to the opening of a cave in the side of the mountain under Skyhold, most likely beneath the undercroft. Aside from the falls, water trickled in from the cracks in the stones and gathered in a large pool of water that misted with warmth. The entrance to the cave was hidden from view by the waterfall and vegetation that had grown inside and around the cave. Arasinya crossed the mossy cave and walked out on the piece of land that jutted from the mountain past the waterfall and looked up. She could just make out the walls of Skyhold’s battlements but the whole night sky was open to her as the spray of water dampened her hair and dress. She stared at the stars in wonder before turning back to Solas, who stood at the opening of the cave beneath the water.

“How did you find this place?” Arasinya asked loudly over the roar of the waterfall as she returned to him.

“When we first came to Skyhold a wisp showed me this place in the Fade. It was originally difficult to access, but with some magic I cleared the way,” he replied, grasping her hands and bringing them to his lips. “I’m glad I have the chance to share it with you.” He brushed her damp hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear, his fingers soft.

His hand lingered behind her ear and slipped around her head. She wrapped her arms around him as he drew her close and kissed her mouth. They were slow, content to take in the feeling of one another, to bask in the din of the falling water and the light of the stars. All of Arasinya’s earthly cares washed away from her as his fingers unraveled her hair and her body burned under her clothing as his other hand ghosted along her waist and back.

They removed themselves into the cave - their mouths and limbs still entangled - and stood in the clearing of grass and moss and the distorted light of the moon. Their fixation with one another deepened and increased until she was rocking with the motion of their fervor, her senses alight with the overwhelming desire to be with him.

She brought his hand to her breast and with steady, practiced hands he pulled at the silver clasps along the front of her dress exposing the white chemise underneath it. The dress fell to the ground around her feet and she lowered her hands to unfasten his belt and pull at the tunic beneath it. She gasped as his lips found her neck and moved along its length and she moved her head aside so that he could better access it. He paused to remove his shirt and toss it aside. His gaze smoldered as he returned to her and she caught only a glimpse of his bare chest before her eyes closed at the touch of his lips along her neck, jaw, and shoulders.

Once their bodies were laid bare, they lowered to the moss and grass. His mouth moved across her body, caressing and teasing her neck, stomach, breasts, and inner thighs. Their magic intermingled and sparked where their skin met and the ache to have him fill her grew with every passing moment. Her heart pounded, her blood rushed, and her body tensed in anticipation. The sound of the falls echoed the roaring in her ears.

Solas returned to her mouth and kissed her deeply, his fingers tangled with hers as he propped himself above her on his forearms. He met no resistance as he entered her, so primed her body was for him, but she gasped at the sensation nonetheless. As he moved within her their labored breath passed between them warm on one another’s skin. She held onto him. Her hands grasped at his neck, back, and shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh when a spasm flowed through her body.

They shuddered to a stop after several minutes and they adorned one another with soft kisses as he grew soft inside her. Her lips marked a path across his forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin, and he chuckled in pleasure when her teeth grazed his ear. He rolled off her and she lay next to him, her head resting on his chest and his arms around her. He lifted her hand in his, brought her fingertips to his lips, and rubbed her knuckles and palm with his thumb. She watched him studying her hand and when his eyes met hers, she grinned and nuzzled deeper into the crook of his shoulder and neck.

“I cannot recall the last time I felt so content, vhenan,” Solas confessed.

“Nor can I, though the quality of the sex might be a factor,” Arasinya replied with a laugh.

His chest rumbled with laughter. “I had almost forgotten. As I said before, it has been a long time.”

“I hope I was worth the wait.”

He traced her jaw with his fingers and lifted her face to his to kiss her. When they parted, he asserted, “You are worth everything to me.”

“Likewise,” she returned. Her eyes locked with his and she studied the intricate colors of his irises – grays and blues and flecks of gold sprinkled about his pupils that she had not known until she was this close. His hand cupped her cheek and his thumb brushed her cheekbone as she drew closer to his mouth. Their kiss was languid and slow, loving and studious, and increased in enthusiasm until Arasinya pulled away and grinned.

“You are tormenting me,” Solas reprimanded with a chuckle.

“Come join me in the spring,” she suggested as she rose to her feet.

“I’m afraid I can only dog paddle, vhenan.”

“That’s a shame. I’m afraid the next thing I wanted to do to you involved the spring,” Arasinya teased with a tilt of her head and a smirk. His eyes widened fractionally at her words and Arasinya grinned as he stood up as well.  

“A swim does sound lovely, now that you mention it,” Solas agreed with a nod.

They swam together in the warm waters and, true to his word, Solas’ only stroke was a dog paddle. After navigating about the pool, Arasinya guided Solas to an outcrop of stone where she mounted him and slowly rode him to climax. She venerated him with her lips, her breasts, and skin; her thoughts only of his pleasure and the desire he roused in her. He whispered lost Elvhen words into her ears and the rustle of his breath was fire and light in her heart.

Long after, they lay together on the moss with their hands laced together as they listened to the quiet of one another. The gentle thumps of their hearts and rasps of their breathing created a perfect tapestry of silent noise. To be alive, to be in one another’s arms as a single being with two hearts, two souls, was bliss. Her hand rested upon his chest as she sighed, “ _Ma’arlath, Solas._ ”

She had almost fallen asleep in her contentment, but Solas awoke her with a gentle kiss across her brow. “They will worry if you are not in your bed in the morning,” he whispered. He helped her sit up and they began the laborious process of dressing once more. They faced one another and he closed the clasps of her dress as she straightened his jawbone necklace. Their lips met once more before they left their quiet paradise and ascended back into Skyhold. No one met them as they climbed the many stairs back to Arasinya’s room and she was grateful that tonight had been theirs and theirs alone.

Her room was dark and cold when they finally reached it. Solas sat in one of the chairs before the fireplace as she worked to coax it into life with her magic. The room slowly filled with heat and once the fire was roaring, Arasinya sat down in Solas’ lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek.

“Will you stay with me tonight? I’ve been sleeping alone since I left for the Conclave and I miss the comfort of having other living people around me,” she requested.

“If it pleases you, vhenan, then of course I will stay,” he replied, his voice soft. His lips brushed her brow before she excused herself to undress. She felt his eyes on her as she removed her clothing and changed into her silk night robe.

“Do you enjoy the view my rooms offer?” Arasinya asked as she returned to him, his unwavering gaze causing gooseflesh across her body.

“Immensely,” he replied, his eyes never leaving her. He stood up and rested his hands on her waist. They closed the distance between them and though she was tired from the evening’s earlier physical activities, she felt her body come alive as his magic flowed over her and his mouth met hers. His hands moved across her torso and into the folds of her robe to rest against her bare skin. They grasped her waist and moved upward so that his thumbs brushed across her nipples. She moaned against his mouth and tugged at his clothing once more. Her desire for him trumped her exhaustion.

Her robe slid off her shoulders and caught around her elbows. Solas’ mouth descended to her neck and jaw, his touch charged with magic energy. She felt his hands in her hair and on her bottom, pulling her closer to him as he marked her with his mouth and she attempted to wrestle his clothing off. Reaching under his tunic, her fingers traced the musculature of his abdomen causing Solas to laugh and swat her hand away.

They stopped their affections and looked at one other, their expressions serious.

“Are you ticklish?” Arasinya asked very quietly.

“No,” Solas replied. His furrowed eyebrows and steady gaze held no room for rebuke.

She poked his belly.

He tried desperately not to laugh and to keep his face a mask of solemnity, but his face was turning red at the effort.  

She drew her fingers across his stomach letting only her nails touch his skin and he was shaking with the effort not to react to her touch.

“That is too precious,” she remarked as Solas stopped her hands by grabbing her wrists. He guided her toward the bed before kissing both her hands and then lowered them to her side. She grinned, “I would have never guessed that my solemn Solas was ticklish.”

“Now you know my weakness,” Solas mock lamented, his voice low as his hands laced with hers. “A shame I do not know yours.”

“I think you do,” Arasinya replied before kissing him once more.

Lowering herself to the bed with her robe still around elbows, Arasinya watched Solas remove his clothing. Just as he had not looked away when she had changed, her eyes followed his movements without hesitation and she could see him somewhat clearly for the first time. His body was sinewy but slight, thin from years of living on the land but strong because of it as well.

When he returned to her, he planted kisses from her naval to her forehead though he meandered across her breasts, shoulders, and neck as well.  She lay back on the bed and stretched as he removed her robe. His hands ran over her torso, his fingers drawing lines over her hip bones and lovingly outlining her body in the firelight.

An urgency to be joined grew in Arasinya’s chest, head, and groin and she pushed her hips up against his to make her craving acknowledged. He responded by kissing her deeply and gripping her wrists over her head, putting his weight onto her forearms. Although she knew was perfectly capable of upending him and reversing their positions, she enjoyed being pinned down as he entered her and he caught her gasp in his mouth.  He went slowly, thoroughly as though he were tormenting her for her earlier tickling and he drew her climax out, bringing her close and then backing off at the last moment.

He smirked at her as she laughed and squirmed. “You’re terrible,” she gasped. She wriggled out of his grasp and hooked her arm around his neck to lower him to her mouth. Her tongue moved rapidly against his without room for breath and his breathing became labored. Her body arched against his and his hands grasped her hair, knotting the strands as she climaxed and finishing as her body clinched down upon him.

His lips moved across her face and she sighed in contentment and remarked, “You are always so polite, Solas, but I am enjoying getting to know you better in this fashion.”

“As long as you are enjoying yourself I am happy to oblige,” Solas replied. He placed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. Her eyes searched his face and she watched a smirk dawn across his mouth. “Admittedly, I am exhausted now and would like to accept your original offer of staying the night.” She laughed and his mouth once again found hers. Her body was pleasantly tender from the evening’s endeavors that she was aware of every sensation he was causing. His leisurely study of her mouth made her head feel like it was filled with cotton and she wished their time together would never end.

Later, they lay together in the dark and she rested her head on his chest, under his jaw, their naked bodies twined together under the sheets and furs. She listened to him breathe and her own breathing moved in time with his as she fell asleep, her hand locked with his.

In her dream she waited for him in the Fade version of her bedroom. She filled the room with music and flipped through books that were open on the desk. When he appeared in the dream, she could not immediately focus on him as his outline was muddled and veiled by a writhing shadow. His smile banished the vision and Arasinya shook her head to clear her head – it was a trick of the Fade, nothing more.

“Would you like to see some of Skyhold’s history?” Solas asked, extending his hand to her.

“I would love to,” she replied as she gave him her hand.


	18. True Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO SO SO sorry that I did not post this on time. I did not have my most recent copy of the manuscript at home and I may have been a LITTLE distracted by Mass Effect and my Cullen x Trevelyan fanfiction I'm working on. I haven't been writing for this fic as much as I'd like. I would like to finish it in a couple more chapters but I have almost nothing written after this chapter. I'll do my best to write on this in the next two weeks.

# True Peace

It was not the Fade, but it felt like a dream.

The morning sun streamed in through the stained glass of the balcony windows. It cast colored patches of light across the creamy furs on the bed and on Lavellan’s face. Their hands had fallen apart during the night but he held her in his arms, her hair brushing his cheek and shoulder, her hand still upon his chest.

He had forgotten what bliss felt like until last night. She had allowed him to hold her, to kiss her, to make love to her and she had returned his affection. Her trust in him was so great that she had fallen asleep in his arms.

Varric had called requited love mundane, but Solas had not felt so exhilarated in ages.

Lavellan woke slowly, her eyes blinking in the light and her legs stretching under the blankets and furs. When she had opened her eyes completely she tilted her head to look at him and a sleepy smile spread across her face. With his free hand Solas pushed the hair back off her forehead so that he could see her better. She rested in silence watching the rise and fall of her hand on his chest, content to listen to the beating of his heart.

“I wish we could stay here,” she murmured. Her stomach growled loudly and she grimaced in embarrassment.

“We may need to address that, first,” Solas suggested with a smirk.

She tentatively stuck one of her feet out from under the covers and then retreated once more. “It’s too cold,” she protested. With a flick of her hand the burned logs in the fireplace were cleared and new logs filled their place and burst into fire. Once the room had warmed considerably, Lavellan threw off the covers of the bed and sat up.

Her skin was pale in the morning sun and Solas could see every muscle on the woman’s small frame clearly defined. He had firsthand experienced Lavellan’s impressive strength, flexibility, and endurance last night but he had been more concerned with touching every part of her and pleasing her than truly admiring her figure. In this light, she was stunning. Her black hair was jostled and frizzy from last night’s activities but it flowed behind her like a river of black as she dressed in a robe and prepared a tisane at her desk.

As she selected dried herbs she said, “I know you do not like tea. I don’t have anything else, unfortunately, and I need this.” Her magic heated some water left in a kettle by the fire and the room was filled with the smell of herbs as the hot water warmed them. She sat back down on the edge of the bed, teacup in hand, and kissed Solas on the tip of his nose.

“Is that one of your own blends?” Solas asked as he sat up in bed. He was naked though the blankets and furs still covered his lower half. Just as he had been admiring Lavellan earlier, her eyes now studied his form in the daylight.

“Yes, depending on the need I can whip up a concoction for almost anything,” Lavellan replied. “Healing is intuitive for me. I don’t need magic for most of it.”

“It is good that you do not use your magic for everything,” Solas remarked with a pointed look at the fireplace.

“You sound like a Chantry sister,” Lavellan laughed. “But I agree. Most of the techniques I learned from my Keeper and mother were passed down through centuries and do not require magic at all. They’re worth keeping.”

“Is your mother a healer?” Solas asked. He stretched and left the bed to search for his clothing, which still lay on the floor and furniture where it had been haphazardly thrown the previous night. He gathered the clothing up and began to dress.

“No, but she tended the halla and somehow always knew what was wrong with them and how to help them,” she replied. She sipped at her tea as he dressed and once she had finished she moved to the wardrobe in the room to dress in her tunic, wide belt, and leggings. Then she crossed the room to search for a hairbrush and sighed at the state of her hair.

“Allow me,” Solas offered, gesturing for the hairbrush. Lavellan quirked a skeptical eyebrow at him and he explained, “Ah, you assume that because I have no hair currently that I have no experience with it? Vhenan, I used to have hair thicker and coarser than yours and I wish to brush your hair.”

With a nod she acquiesced and sat down upon a wooden chest in front of her bed. He sat above her on the bed and straddled her with his legs to better access her hair. He started at the ends, grasping the strands in his left hand and running the brush through the tangles with his right, her hair becoming smooth and shiny as he slowly worked his way up her long locks.

“What was your hair like?” Lavellan asked when he was around halfway done with her hair.

“As I said, thick and coarse. I shaved it on the sides and it was always tangled,” he answered as his fingers skimmed through the ends of her hair, searching for any knots he may have missed.

“And what color was it?”

“Dark brown,” he murmured as his fingers and brush moved toward her scalp.

“And how long was it?”

“Too long.”

“Is that why you cut it off?” Lavellan ventured.

“No,” Solas replied. He ran the brush through her hair and it did not snag. Her hair was like ribbons of silk across his hands and despite his brushing it was already waving once more. “I cut it off because it reminded me of a terrible mistake I made long ago.”

“Oh. Was it the same mistake you mentioned in the Fade, the one Cole brought up?” She asked tentatively.

“Yes,” Solas admitted. His fingers parted her hair into strands and he absently began to braid them together.

They sat in silence as he braided her hair and he felt the tension between them increasing until Lavellan remarked, “You hardly ever speak of your past.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No, it doesn’t. I know you must have a reason for not speaking of it.” She turned her head to glance at him but he gently directed her head forward again to continue his work. “The past needs to be held as a lesson, not as a definition. It is not who you are.”

“Did the Dalish teach you that?” Solas asked.

“Pft,” Lavellan snorted. As Solas tied off her braid with a tie that Lavellan had procured from a pocket in her clothing, she continued, “My Keeper appreciated the old ways and did her best to teach the clan, but beyond asking the Creators for favors or blessings, my clan was not overly concerned with the details of the past, only what it could do for them, how it could define them. I wish they were more interested in the truth and did not take the stories at face-value.”

“The Dalish did do one thing right,” Solas remarked. She turned back toward him and this time he did not move her head forward again. “They made you.”

She smiled at him and at its sight an insurmountable desire to kiss her clouded his thoughts and he lowered his mouth to hers. He would never tire of her smile or her soft lips or how bright her eyes were. When he pulled back, his fingers coaxed the short fine hairs around her ears into curls to frame her face. He traced her jaw and studied her face, wondering what she would look like without the Vallaslin. She was already beautiful, but without them she would be radiant.

She stood before him and took his hands and guided him to the stairs. They descended the steps together, their fingers interlocked. They entered the main hall where breakfast was, thankfully, still being served. Usually Solas took his meals in the mural room unless Varric or Cole requested his company, but he wished to stay with Lavellan so he sat down with her at a table where Dorian, Varric, and Iron Bull were eating.

Iron Bull’s eye followed them as they sat down and when he finished chewing he said to Varric, “So, how much did I lose?”

“Fifteen silver,” Varric replied as he pulled out a small ledger. “Sparkler, you won forty one.”

“Of course I did,” Dorian smiled. He answered Lavellan’s perplexed look with a wink.

Lavellan’s eyes narrowed at the men and she asked, “And just what was it that you were betting on?”

“If you two would shag, of course,” Iron Bull answered nonchalantly. “You two have been tip-toeing around each other for ages. We made your dilemma fun by throwing money at it.”

Solas opened his mouth to express his disgust at their gambling over their personal affairs but Lavellan was already protesting, “If you're making money off us then where’s our cut?”

“Excuse me?” Varric and Solas asked simultaneously.

“Solas and I just won some people some money so I want a cut of it,” Lavellan explained. Dorian snorted into his food as she continued, “We did the work, so pay up.”

“She’s got a point,” Iron Bull agreed.

“Did I hit my head or is this conversation actually happening?” Solas asked.

“Oh, it’s happening,” Lavellan answered. To Varric she held out her hand and made a grasping motion, “Pay up.”

As Varric grumbled about how she still owed him a drink and counted out some coins from his pocket, Solas fixed Lavellan with a disapproving glare. She shrugged his glare off and consoled him, “Next time I’m in Val Royeaux I’ll use this to get those cakes you like.”

“The tiny ones at Halamshiral?” He asked quietly, his interest peaked despite his disapproval.

“Yes, the frilly ones filled with ganache.”

“Fine,” Solas muttered, though he was secretly pleased at the prospect of cakes.

The group conversed over breakfast and once done, they all parted ways save for Varric, who was writing letters at the table. Lavellan was going to the garden to talk to Morrigan regarding a project they were working on and then to check on the plants while Iron Bull left to spar with his Chargers and Dorian needed to do research in the library.

Before she left him and after the others had gone, Lavellan placed a kiss on his cheek and promised that she would see him later. He felt her touch on his cheek long after she had left him and he found that as he went about his own work around Skyhold, a smile crept to his face whenever he thought of her, which was often considering he smelled her on his clothing and his muscles ached from their vigorous activity the previous night.

He was almost done planning the fresco for the events at Halamshiral. There was room for perhaps two more scenes in the rotunda. Corypheus must be vying to make a final desperate attempt to destroy the Veil and Lavellan, but so far there had been little news of him. Lavellan had thwarted his attempts at creating a demon army by stopping the Grey Wardens and Orlais was once again united with Empress Celene still alive and backed by Briala. The Inquisition had stopped him at every turn and Solas could not help but worry for Lavellan, for she would be Corypheus’ target once more should he retaliate.

For most of the day he puttered about the mural room and library painting or sketching or reading, his ears constantly bombarded by the cawing of Leliana’s ravens overhead. Over the months he had grown used to the noise, but he already missed Lavellan’s quiet and by midday he wanted to see her once more.

He did not often visit the bottom level of Skyhold’s gardens unless he had wandered to them while lost in thought. For some reason, the bulk of the Chantry supporters gathered here and their disapproving glances did little to improve the ambiance for him. However, considering the decrepit condition they had found it in, the gardens had improved tremendously and it would have been a relaxing place if there were not so many people.

Lavellan, apparently done with her work, sat in a circle with Cole, Kieran, and Josephine in the grass. They had picked several handfuls of flowers and Lavellan was teaching them how to make crowns out of them. Josephine seemed helplessly lost but Kieran and Cole followed her directions carefully and hung on her every word.

“Busy at work, I see,” Solas remarked as he sat down in the grass next to her.

“This is very important,” she replied, her hands busy carefully knotting and weaving the flowers together. Her lap and hands were full of white daisies and ivy that she was turning into a magnificent crown. When she noticed him looking at it, she remarked, “This one is for Cassandra.”

“Cassandra?” Josephine asked, surprised. Her yellow daisies with orange edges had fallen apart and looked crumbled in the grass before her. “I thought the Dalish exchanged these with their betrothed.”

“Well, Cassandra’s in for a surprise then, isn’t she?” Lavellan joked with a smirk. She reached over and helped Kieran with one of the knots as she continued explaining, “It’s true that many clans exchange the crowns during weddings in place of the rings you humans wear, but we also give them to our friends and loved ones. Though it differs from clan to clan, I suppose.” As she returned to her own crown, she continued wistfully, “In my clan, the bride and groom to be spend the morning of the wedding gathering the flowers and creating a crown. They are not allowed to see one another until the crowns are completed. My mother and father’s wedding almost did not happen because my mother was so terrible at making them and she kept restarting it.”

“Such a shame that they wilt,” Josephine lamented.

“Actually, you can prevent them from wilting with some magic,” Lavellan corrected her. She held her completed crown before her and showed it to the group. “Any Keeper worth her salt can put the flowers in a stasis.” The crown began to float in her hands and Solas could feel the magic rolling off Lavellan’s skin. As the spell finished, Lavellan held the now crystal-like flower crown in her hands and puzzled over it while Josephine marveled.

“Is something wrong?” Solas asked.

“My spell took only a moment to complete,” Lavellan murmured. She turned the crown over in her hands, touching the petals with her hands to test their solidity. “It used to take me much longer. It must be the anchor.”

“Does the anchor trouble you?” Josephine asked, suddenly concerned.

“No,” Lavellan reassured her with a smile. Lavellan reached forward so that Josephine could see the crown. As she examined it, Lavellan explained, “The anchor has made my magic much stronger, I am still unused to it.”

“I like the mark on your hand, Lady Lavellan,” Kieran piped in. Solas realized he had never heard Morrigan’s boy speak before and was surprised by his civility.

“Thank you, Kieran,” Lavellan smiled.

They continued in this matter for some time, until Morrigan came by to give Kieran his lessons and Josephine dismissed herself. Kieran gifted his mother with a bracelet of blue flowers and she looked at it disdainfully but she smiled when she thanked him for it and placed it upon her wrist. When Josephine left, she had several yellow flowers in her hair that Lavellan had crystallized for her and an infectious smile.

“Cole,” Lavellan motioned to the young man with the white daisy crown, which he carefully took in his hands. His own attempts had been hastily stuffed into his pockets and immediately crushed. “Take that to Cassandra and tell her it’s from me. Or a secret admirer.”

“Why would I say it’s from a secret admirer?” Cole asked as he turned the crown around in his hands.

“Because she will probably start blushing and stammering and it would be funny?” Lavellan suggested with a grin.

“Alright,” Cole acquiesced. He stood up with the crown in the hand and started speaking to the flowers as he wandered away. “ _You were made with love and smiles. You are still young but you will bring both to whomever wears you._ ”

They watched Cole meander out of the garden and once he once out of sight, Lavellan rested her hand on Solas’ thigh and took he took her hand in his. She was watching the people around them, the white noise of their overlapping conversations filling the empty space between them. Her thumb, callused but soft, absently moved over his knuckles as they sat in the sun.

After some time soaking in the sunlight, she brought his hand to her lips for a chaste kiss. “Come,” she said as she stood up, drawing him up with her. “Let us go back upstairs.”

“Whatever for, vhenan?” Solas asked, a playful smile on his lips as he drew her closer.

She smirked at him and her eyes darted around to ensure they could not be overheard before they focused back onto his. Under her breath she stated, “There are two things that I wish for you to know about me.” With her free hand she held up one finger. “One: I will, at one point, probably steal food from you, somehow, and I’m sorry in advance.” As he chuckled at her, she held up another finger. “Two: I enjoy physical intimacy and, as you know by now, I am very good at it.”

“I believe I can attest to that,” Solas murmured, drawing his finger across her jaw. “And I think I can manage the second item you mentioned, though I’m not sure if I can condone you stealing my food.”

“Then I suppose you will have to teach me a lesson if I do,” she whispered as she clucked his chin with a finger, a mischievous light in her eyes.

He swallowed. Hard. “We should, ah, remove ourselves from the garden of Chantry sisters, I think, to finish this conversation,” he rumbled.

“Agreed,” she grinned. She innocently laced her fingers with his and they began their walk back toward the main hall. Dinner was still being prepared so the tables were being moved around as they passed through to Lavellan’s chambers. They ascended the several flights of stairs and once she had opened the door to her room, she placed her hands upon his shoulders and playfully pushed him against the door to close it and reached up to kiss him.

As he wrapped his arms around her to bring their bodies together, her kiss became a feverish, wild exultation and he felt his pulse quicken and his breath shorten from her affections. His right hand cupped her bottom while his left hand grasped the braid he had made this morning and gently tugged on it, eliciting a low moan from Lavellan. He tugged the braid to the side and exposed her long, pale neck which he began to softly nuzzle and kiss. She gasped in pleasure and he could feel her body arching against his from his mouth’s survey of her neck.

With her initial control weakened, Solas was able to flip her around so that she was against the door. He leaned his forearm against it as his lips returned to her mouth as his other hand reached beneath her tunic and pressed against her groin. He could feel the heat radiating off her through the layer of her leggings and it awakened his own desire for her.

In the last twenty four hours he had been stripped of his clothing twice and now it was happening a third time. She had become familiar with the way his belt buckled and how to remove it and his tunic quickly and without fuss. When his fingers snuck up her shirt, she raised her arms and allowed him to pull off her tunic and chemise. As soon as her chest was laid bare his hands moved slowly up her sides, whispering across her skin and causing gooseflesh to break out upon her torso.

He loved the feeling of holding another person to him and to be responsible for her excitement and being the object of her adoration. Having someone he could trust, someone who understood him, and caused such exhilaration in him was not something he was used to having. He had been a very different person the last time he had felt anything close to what he had with Lavellan and those memories were worn and faded in comparison to the vibrancy he had before him.

They made love against the door and it was one of the more erotic things he had ever imagined doing with Lavellan. She had begun to remove her boots so that she could take off her leggings but he kneeled down before she could protest and took off her boots himself and then lowered her leggings. He could feel the toned muscle beneath her skin as he ran his hand across her leg before lightly touching her between her legs. He elicited a gasp from Lavellan and, encouraged by her reaction, continued to tease her with his hands and eventually his mouth. His attentions were causing her to make the most delightful moans and when he pulled away from her he saw that she was flushed and breathing heavily though her mouth was curled in a smirk.

He stood up and returned to her neck and shoulders. Her mouth was hot against his skin as she nuzzled his shoulder and her fingers traced his biceps and forearms. After thoroughly studying her exposed neck, shoulders, and breasts with his mouth, he pressed their bodies together once more and lifted one of her legs so that he could enter her.

Lavellan was a beautiful woman and her body was magnificent to behold and gave him a great deal of physical pleasure, but it was her mind and her spirit that enticed and aroused him. She gave all of herself to him and when they made love her sole purpose was to bring them closer through the act. She was a selfless lover and yet she did not hesitate to tell him what she wanted. Of her body, she was its master and she exerted the same certainty over the entire act of sex. Never had he experienced such a connection or desire.

When she climaxed, he felt her short fingernails digging into his back just as she gently bit down on his shoulder. Though she was careful not to hurt him the slight pain in tandem with her body tightening around him and his every sense being filled with her drew him over the edge. Her hands ran across his back that had become slick with sweat as he finished. He panted against her shoulder and placed his hand behind her neck as he lowered her leg. They stood together, their breath hot upon one another’s skin until Lavellan lifted his chin and kissed him. The kiss was soft, gentle, unobtrusive – opposite of the intensity they had just shared. He felt his heart pounding away in his chest, unwilling to slow down as he returned the kiss.

They gathered their discarded clothing once more and, elbows hooked together, ascended the stairs into Lavellan’s room. She threw her clothing over one of the chairs and excused herself for a moment to clean up at the water basin. He lay down on the bed, exhausted but full of excitement, while he waited for her. Tired as he was, he only vaguely recognized that Lavellan had lain down next to him before he drifted off to sleep.

A familiar song greeted him as he woke from his nap. It was a lullaby, a nurse-rhyme for children in the days of Arlathan. While his eyes were still closed he was, if only for a moment, sent back through time to another place. The last time he had heard this music he was a different person and he had so much anger.

He was calm now as he opened his eyes to Lavellan’s room. The sky had turned dark save for a line of dark red across the horizon, the last of the sun’s light. Lavellan had lit the fireplace and several candles but the room was still dim. He turned onto his side so that he could better see Lavellan, who sat with her legs crossed under her in one of the chairs, a half-eaten meal on the table beside her. She seemed to be staring at the fire, lost in her thoughts, and the harp in her lap was there to keep her hands occupied. Where there should have been words, she hummed the tune that accompanied the music and he was content to watch and listen to her.

Her hands came to a slow stop and she turned around to look at him, having noticed that he was staring at her. A smile came to her lips and she stood up to put her harp away. The fire beyond her filtered through her silk robe and he could see her silhouette dark against the orange of the fire. He watched her as she approached him to lay down on the bed beside him. She gave him a peck on the nose.

“I know that song,” Solas remarked.

She smiled and Solas stretched his hand so that he could touch her hair and brush her cheek with his thumb. She replied, “It’s an old song and one of my favorites.”

“ _The Noble Maiden_ ,” Solas named the song in Elvhen. The bridge of Lavellan’s nose crinkled and her smile faltered. “Is something wrong?” He asked, concerned by her sudden change in expression.

She hesitated and Solas pondered at her behavior. “I,” she paused once more, set her mouth and continued, “I did not know that song had a name.”

“It does. Do you not know the lyrics?” Solas ventured.

She shook her head quickly, her lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. She was hurt and she was desperately attempting to keep it masked by turning onto her back so that he could only see her profile. In response he lifted himself onto his forearms and rested them on either side of her head so that he could see her clearly. His thumb traced her brow and he coaxed her to look at him, her eyes bright with sadness.

“Speak to me, _vhenan_ ,” he whispered.

She bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering and closed her eyes. When she opened them she hoarsely replied, “I have played that song more times than I can count. It was the first song I memorized by heart. And I never knew that it had a name.”

Regret. She felt it over the loss of their people’s heritage and legacy. She did not know the words of a lullaby because their culture and language had been destroyed. He continued to draw his thumb across her brow and his eyes were drawn to the Vallaslin above it. Lavellan felt the loss of knowledge more acutely than anyone he had met in this age. If telling her the truth could bring a smile once again to her face, he would tell her anything. He made a rash decision.

“I will teach you the words, if you’d like,” he offered.

Her lips quirked in a smile that faded quickly. She was trying to cheer herself on his account. “My Elvhen is terrible compared to yours. I’m afraid I would be a slow study,” she remarked.

His thumb ceased its movement as he considered her words. It was odd that they never spoke Elvhen together though they were most likely the most versed in the language. He had simply assumed she was more comfortable speaking the common language but it occurred to him now that perhaps she had been too embarrassed to converse with him. He had spoken Elvhen to her before and to others in small snippets – that small amount may have given her the impression that her Elvhen was far inferior to his and therefore unworthy of sharing.

“Then I shall teach you Elvhen as well,” Solas replied. “You must know a great deal already since you were your Keeper’s First, it would not be difficult to learn more.”

Her face lost its hardness and eased into a tentative smile and his heart lifted. “You would do that?” She asked quietly.

“I would love to hear our language spoken by someone other than myself, and especially by you,” Solas replied as he cupped her cheek.

Her smile grew but she still appeared unsure, her eyebrows still worried. “You’ve taught me painting and drawing, and now you’re going to teach me our people’s lost language. You are always teaching me things. How can I ever return your kindness?”

“Oh, _vhenan_ ,” he sighed in wonder and smiled at her. He laid his forehead against hers and breathed in her scent, his eyes closed. Never had he felt so calm, so at home in himself and with another. His voice threatened to break as he whispered, “You have already done more for me than you can ever know.”

They kissed once more but their bodies were too tired for more activity that night. Instead, Solas sat up next to her and pointed at objects in the room and asked her to name as many as she could in Elvhen. She lay her head on his shoulder with his other arm draped across her back to keep her close as she identified as many objects as she could. After several rounds wherein he would complicate matters by asking her to use a infinitive verb associated with the object and then conjugated into different forms, he discovered that she knew quite a deal more than what he had assumed though her pronunciation and sentence structure needed much work.

She eventually fell asleep in his arms and he carefully adjusted both of them so that they were laying down. He left her side momentarily to eat the rest of the meal on the table before returning to her warmth. She stirred as he pulled the covers over them but as soon as he had curled up to her so that her back was against his front, she fell into a deep sleep once more.

When he found her in the Fade, he spied her speaking to a spirit, the same one that he had seen at Haven and that had not acknowledged him. As he approached, the spirit looked at him and he was struck by how ancient the spirit seemed. However, before he could ask the spirit who it was and what it was doing with Lavellan, the spirit vanished.

“ _Who was that spirit, vhenan_?” Solas asked in Elvhen as he approached her.

Lavellan hesitated to answer and her Elvhen was broken as she replied, “ _She is a friend. I have known for long time.”_

He gently corrected her grammar before inquiring, “ _Why did she leave?”_

“ _She does not like people – strangers_ ,” Lavellan answered.

The answer did not satisfy him but he was quickly distracted by Lavellan, who began asking him questions in Elvhen about the language. They continued to work on her learning until he decided she deserved a break and they walked into one of Lavellan’s memories – of seeing the ocean for the first time when had been in search of a vessel to take her from the Free Marshes to Ferelden.

The walked across the shore in her memories and Solas was struck by how much her dreams had improved in detail and solidarity. He could feel the spray of the sea, hear the roar of the waves, and smell the salt of the water. Gulls cried overhead and further down the beach a boat was docked with harnessed white sails, the shouts and conversations of its sailors riding the wind toward them. Crabs scuttled under the surface of the water, chasing the waves as they crashed and retreated. And all the while, Lavellan conversed with him in her slow Elvhen, describing the voyage and how she had managed to buy passage to Ferelden with no money at her disposal.

Solas was both impressed by Lavellan but perturbed by her great advancement in her Fade dreams. It was only natural that with the anchor she would become a more powerful mage, but now her dreams were rivaling even his own and she spoke to ancient spirits that he had no knowledge of.

He opened his mouth to express his concern but when she turned to him and smiled to ask him what he thought of the memory, he brushed aside his original words and answered that it was as though he were really on a beach and that her ability had improved tremendously. His words brought a grin to her face and the matter was forgotten in his mind, for now. He took her hand and they walked down the shore of the white beach and into her memories.


End file.
